Points of Divergence
by Dr. Cultural Studies
Summary: Imbued with inexplicable instincts and tormented with terrifying visions of a scarlet moon, Akimichi Miho tries desperately to keep pace with her friends and family...all the while attempting to silently deal with the nightmares of a world at war. What is your definition of fear? SI OC.
1. the Voice

** Points of Divergence **

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies **

**Chapter One: the Voice **

* * *

Early Glover was just that, _early_.

That morning, she had rolled out of bed at exactly 5:29 a.m., one minute before her alarm clock was set to explode with noise. She turned on the water for a hot shower before checking to make sure the coffee maker in the kitchen had automatically set to its ever-important task of making bitter life-water.

While in the shower, she didn't sing or belt out the latest tunes from the radio. She didn't bother thinking about all the dramas of everyday life. She, instead, simply stood beneath the rushing water and waited. It was relaxing to feel the almost scalding water pour over her shoulders and back. For those few scant moments, she could pretend that she was in some countryside-hidden med spa rather than her coffin of a midtown apartment.

The remainder of her morning had passed faster than she had anticipated, thus landing her in the front lot of her office building a full thirty minutes before she was due to arrive. Turning off her rickety scrap metal Pinto, she wrapped her hands tightly around the thermos and curved herself around its warmth. The weather outside was absolutely dreadful for mid-March. Snow was falling on a daily basis and the temperature was only a few degrees above the Ninth Circle of Hell. Being from there, otherwise known as Omaha, Early was no stranger to cold weather.

Teeth chattering a bit, she continued to keep her hands warm on the coffee. She took the occasional languid sip and felt a shiver as the warm liquid passed down into her stomach. Her coffee was especially bitter this day, but the thought was a vague one.

Her eyes moved toward the tree-lined horizon as she waited for the sun to rise further into the sky. Once she could see it through the trees, she watched as more and more cars trickled into the lot. Most were broken down by time and wrecks. Some were of the nicer sort, sports cars and SUVs by the dozen. Those were driven by the managers.

By 7:30 a.m., it was time to go inside.

_This is pathetic. Honestly, you lead such a loathsome existence._

Her back straightened and she looked out over the parking lot toward the front door. The lights were being switched on inside. Pulling her too-large purse onto her shoulder, she checked the mirror one more time before stepping out into the cold air. Her fingers traced the outline of her lips, making sure that the red paint was in its proper place.

_If your aim is to appear like a common village whore, you have achieved it._ _Only the brothel women coat their lips like that where I'm from._

The corners of her painted lips quirked upward in a smirk. "If _I_ look like a whore, then so do you." She listened with amusement as the voice scoffed. "Besides, I doubt you know much about make up." He couldn't stand her wit. Never could. A few minutes later, she eased herself out of that little car and made her way through the piled snow toward the call center. Her boots crunched the fallen ice.

"I don't get it, Earlene." She paused at the doorway, catching a glimpse of her coworker's bright smile. No one should be that happy so early in the morning. "You're always the first one here. Got a night job we don't know about?"

"I work late on the corner of Metcalfe and First Avenue, but you couldn't afford me." Early responded easily. It was always fun to see peoples' reactions to straight-faced comments. Her humor went unnoticed though by her coworker though, who merely nodded. She hadn't listening anyway, just wanting to make some small talk. "And you have a good day, too."

_I will give you this. You do not bear this frivolousness of others at the very least._

It was the utter brilliance of working in an establishment such as this. The obscurity and the lack of community. Each person remained their own entity, distant from each other in their tiny boxed cubicles. There was no need for upward movement and so the office schmoozing was pointless. People simply came to work, earned their paychecks, and went home.

Most college graduates would have scoffed at the job, but Earlene was practical.

Where most might have seen a dead-end job, she saw a steady paycheck.

And she wasn't desperate to make new friends—especially ones that would be connected to the professional arena of her life.

Shaking her head, she moved toward the far back corner of the large two-thousand square foot call center. Already muted voices could be heard making the first calls of the day. Some of the newer employees got over ambitious and started their calls at the crack of dawn. Early actually preferred to call in the mid-afternoon— after lunch but before dinner time. That way, she didn't interrupt any family meals. Despite what the managers said, people respected that and she had one of the better turn-around ratings in the pool.

She believed that if you gave the customers respect, they would return the sentiment.

It was something her father had taught her.

_Yes, that is… quite something. You are a wonder among wonders. The finest pig in the sty. _

Settling down into her chair, she felt her nerves beginning to fray already. He was going to drive her mad before noon. "You've been in my head for a month already. Could you lighten up a bit? You sound like a skipping record. Snark and more snark. Chill out and enjoy the…sunshine." Her fingertips flew across the keyboard. She could never feel his emotions, but she could practically sense his skeptics. The sun was hidden behind snow-filled clouds. "You had all last night to rant and rave and now, you're running your mouth today, too? Or running your thoughts? What's the right description for this situation, huh?"

She stared at the list of calls she had to make. Over three hundred in one day. It seems her record had gotten around to the managers once again. She was being forced to take up the slack for the others.

"If you're so unhappy, then take a nap. Or better yet, get out of my head."

_A nap? You must be joking. No, I believe I will spend this time annoying you. How long will it take until you get a headache from my so-called 'ranting and raving?' An hour? Two perhaps?_

"Look," she muttered to herself. Well, not to herself. To the Voice. It was lucky that she had the cubicle furthest from the others or they would think her even more insane than they already did.

And hell, they didn't even know the half of it.

The voice in her head was evidence enough of her fraying mental state.

"You're a bad ass. I get it. I really do—"

_No, you don't. If you did, you would listen to me._

"—but being an annoying _prick _doesn't prove your badassery. It just adds to a tick to the total number of times you've driven me to drastic measures to shut you up. Don't make me do it again. Because I will. You know I will."

Earlene shifted and pulled open the closest drawer. Inside were several items of a personal nature, but those were rather less than interesting. Like her. At the top of the drawer though was a set of pills that had been prescribed by a psychiatrist. Not necessarily _her_ psychiatrist, but a psychiatrist nonetheless. Clonapin, to stop anxiety attacks. Her friend was nice enough to loan her a couple (or ten).

And somehow or another, they shut the voice in her head up pretty good too.

_You pathetic whelp of a human! You have no idea who I am! You cannot stoop to such levels to get rid of me! I am the—_

"Don't care much to know," she muttered. The sound of a scoff entered her mind. "You're loud and you're rude and you're driving me crazy. What more do I need to know? I don't care who you think you are. You're currently the bane of my existence."

_Bane is an apt word. I will truly be the bane of your existence if you continue to ignore my words._

She eyed the pill bottle before shaking her head. It was too early in the day for any of this. Her chair swiveled around until she was facing the computer screen again. Her fingers typed away as she wrote out a quick email to her mother. The typical stuff. She was fine. Everything was good. She knew she needed to call her grandmother. Yes, she would do it soon. No, she didn't have any significant other yet. No, she didn't need any money. Love her too. That kind of stuff. Never changes.

After all, she was fine.

Just peachy.

She didn't have a voice in her head.

Nope, Early was just dandy.

Sighing, she pawed at her forehead and closed her eyes. It was too early for this. "You gonna take a nap or what?"

_Absolutely not. You see, whelp, I'm an immortal being. I've slept for years and years. Why would I want to sleep again? Especially when it would be a favor to you. _There was a dark chuckle as if he had won something. In answer, Early lifted her shoulders in a lethargic shrug and sighed again. She didn't bother to answer or respond. She had heard the same damn thing for over a month now. The same bitter and angry tirade of useless chatter from a voice in her head. She was beginning to figure out his mentality. _If you want me to be pleasant, then you will listen to what I say and help me to return to my world._

It seemed crazy, absolutely mad.

She had a voice in her head. And, not only did she actively _answer_ it, she was capable of holding entire conversations with it, more often than not entire arguments, without batting an eye. It had been a month since it had started communicating with her and she had come to a comfortable acceptance of its constant presence, even though she wished he would just go away. It had become a constant fixture in her day-to-day life.

She hadn't told a soul, not even her mother.

Especially not her mother.

Her mother thrived on normalcy. This was…way too far outside of "normal."

Earlene can hear voices? What would the neighbors say?

Certainly, she could not tell her doctor, either. He would see her put into a hospital, which common sense said would be the best case scenario, but she had the very reasonable fear that she would inevitably land herself in the nut house. They would toss the key to her white-lined cell into the nearby Potomac. If there was one thing that Earlene Glover feared above all things, it was complete isolation. If she spoke of the Voice, then it would only be a matter of time before she was lost to the void of solitary confinement. She would be cut off from the world, left to rot in the back rooms of some derelict hospital to shrivel away her days.

As it stood, she intended to keep the voice to herself. Forever.

She could continue along with her otherwise normal existence.

Sleep, work, eat.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Life could remain comfortable, as long as she could stand—

_Where I come from, you are in terrible physical shape._

that.

The insult didn't bother her one bit. Besides, she was used to hearing it by this point. "Where I come from," Early muttered, "a man could get stabbed for that kind of statement. Especially to a woman."

It was the truth, too. She made sure he could see that much through her memories. Sure, she had grown up in a very loving and very safe household, but the neighborhood itself was rough. Very rough. An outskirt neighborhood of Omaha. Rarely spoken about, rarely acknowledged. Her mother had always said that her family came from the wrong side of the tracks, that they were not the best sort of people. There was a snort of amusement from somewhere in her mind.

Early sighed, "Let me guess. Your so-called _world_ is far more dangerous than mine and you're amused that I think my memories are intimidating. Am I right?"

_Very impressive. You have basic reasoning skills, _the Voice retorted. _Will the wonders never cease? I have been in your mind for the better—or worse—part of a month, yet this is the most brilliance I have heard from you. Where have you been hiding your wit?_

Early smirked toward the computer screen and actually chuckled. She was somewhat entertained by the amount of sass that he was radiating this particular morning. Usually, he was just callous and angry. Or rather, pissy. It almost sounded like he was joking, which was just strange for a bastard like him. "Please," she said in placating tone, "do control your astonishment. It's giving me a headache."

_You would be—what did you call it?—pissy as well, if you were in my position. I was thrown from my world into yours, into your pathetic mind. Would you be pleased if that happened to you? _Nope. Her head shook and she continued to shift through her call schedule. She set certain numbers for the automated messages, numbers that she knew would either ignore the call or let it roll to voicemail. _Now, about your physical—_

"Shape?" Early questioned. She glanced down at herself and shrugged. A bulge was pressing over the waist of her jeans and the meat on her legs moved as she bounced her feet. "I'm overweight. I know that. You've told me enough. Find something else to harp on for a while. Oh, I know! Try insulting Justin for a while. That's always fun to listen to."

_I have told you before. Your _weight_ is not the issue, _the Voice countered quickly. _Weight is never the issue. It is your _health_ that concerns me and your ability to defend yourself if the need should arise._

"You don't give a damn about either."

_I am inside of you now. What happens to you, happens to me. It's self-preservation._

"I will go down with this ship," Early sang sarcastically. Her voice was off-key and weak. It really was a blessing that she was so far separated from everyone else. The Voice wouldn't shut up and she was pretty loose tongued on this day. She should have had two cups of coffee instead of just one. Straightening her back and adjusting her headset, she decided that enough was enough with the insane small-talk. It was time to work. "If you don't have anything else to add—"

_You know I do._

"—then I will consider this session of Insult Earlene Glover closed."

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, she could push him from her mind. It seemed to be one of those 'if your will is strong enough' sort of deals. If she focused and applied her mind to the task, she could accomplish anything—including the gagging of the ever-incessant Voice. With that enormous feat accomplished, she set to dialing her first number of the day. It was time to earn her rent.

* * *

It was difficult. He was constantly there, a foreign presence that was always at the forefront of her mind. For the first week or so, after the surprise and fear wore off, Early just related their relationship to that of obtuse roommates. There was obvious tension and the Voice had a certain penchant for getting his way with the television. He would make passive-aggressive comments on her dietary habits, mocking her for the odd donut or cookie consumption. She took it all in stride. At one time, she had been the brunt of some pretty brutal bullying. (High school was not her haven.) And she could shrug off his comments as jealousy. It was something that the Voice scoffed at, but even she could see that he was struggling with the idea of being "out of his body."

She didn't quite know how to interpret the Voice's claims of otherworldly origin. She figured that it had something to do with her deep desire to get out of this sinkhole of a life she lived. To escape her own reality for that of another. And that interpretation made some sense.

However, there were odd times when she questioned if the Voice was telling the truth.

Some of the things he said…It was as if he were speaking of a real place. Such as when she started her journey home. After a long day at the call center, she had one hand on the wheel and her head leant back against the rest. Her forehead was pounding with pain, making her a little sick to her stomach. When Early finally came to rest at a stop light, she closed her eyes.

_The mountains are extravagantly large, making the hills here seem like nothing more than piles of dirt. And the sky…is a bright blue, not like the muted pollution that your world possesses. Truly, I thought it was impossible to loath a world as much as I loath yours. It's barbaric, distant, and dirty. Filthy._

"Voice, can you stop talking? I'm having a really hard time concentrating on the wheel."

_Why should I? Earlier, you stated that I could talk to my heart's content after you completed work. Your work is now complete. I may talk. That was the deal._

Sighing, she didn't bother to ask again. It was a probability that he would stay silent as the grave just to spite her. When she opened her eyes again, the light was green and the car lurched forward. The jolt made her heart race in her chest. There was something wrong. She could feel it in her fingertips. The way they were tingling had her nervous. Something was wrong. "Voice—

_I have a name. I refuse to help you until you ask for it._

Even as she continued to drive forward, she could feel her vision blurring. "What's…your name?" Why couldn't she breathe? Her heart was beating faster and faster as her vision began to dim. Was that a stop sign? She couldn't find the strength to press the breaks. Why was this so sudden? It felt as if she were suffocating, as if there were some unfathomable weight resting upon her chest. "N-Name?"

_Whelp! Brat! Earlene! Early! _he sounded frantic.

The Voice—who she thought held nothing but hate for her—was worried. Or was that concern it for his own well-being? She wasn't sure. She couldn't say. Couldn't speak. Her hands started to slip from the steering wheel. Early felt too weak to maintain the grip. Her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out the Voice as he yelled for her. She could see through the shadows that she had drifted into the opposing lane. A set of lights was rapidly approaching and she knew then, that if she did nothing, she would kill someone else.

And, despite her usual inkling for self-perseveration, she used the last bit of her strength to yank the steering wheel in the opposite direction. Her car jackknifed to the right, skidding onto two wheels on the icy roadway. Early lost consciousness just as the car started over onto its side, metal screeching against concrete. She had never felt so powerless. There was an unbearable pain- her head snapping against the steering wheel.

It was not how she had imagined her death, but she supposed it would do well enough. It was early—she was only twenty-two, after all. In the veil that fell over her in that unconscious state, she wondered just _how_ she had died. Was it her heart? Did her heart just give out? Or was it something else entirely? Did the wreck kill her? She never bothered to go the doctor for a checkup though. It could have been cancer for all she knew. It was just so…sudden. And that was the part she was having the most difficult time with.

Is it some kind of blessing to know when you're going to die or is it worse to just have the rug ripped out from underneath?

Early couldn't say she had a preference for either. She never wanted to die in the first place. Her life was normal, save for the Voice.

She thought she would grow old. Eventually break out of her distant existence. Go out, have fun, make more friends, find a real job (one that she actually enjoyed). She thought that she would live. Instead, she had been too focused on hustling through life. She kept the bills paid and kept her nose out of messes. And those messes generally involved people. She meant to live, but somehow she forgot how to.

Something warm alighted on her face and she eased her eyes open, peering into the extensive blackness that surrounded her. She glanced to the left and then to the right, seeing nothing and no one. Maybe death really was that simple.

No afterlife, no anthems and glory songs.

Just…nothing.

"Not necessarily," a voice—_the_ Voice—said. Surprised by his presence, Early turned on her heel. Her sight landed on a man. He stood only a head or so taller than herself, perhaps only a little under six feet. He shifted, raising his chin. His muscled arms crossed over his chest. She observed his movements carefully. His hair was a deep red and is eyes crimson. It seemed odd, to see him personified. For the longest time, she saw him as something else entirely. For the longest time, the image of a large fox had filled her mind. "You're dead. I believe I told you that you would die early, Early."

"That was in reference to my weight," Early fired back in kind. "Not a car wreck. Don't pretend you _knew_ that would happen. You're many things, but you don't have precognition." He merely shrugged, eyes still sharply watching her movements. After a month, she felt as if she knew him in his simplest form. It was clear that he was much more than met the eye. Even if he was a figment of her imagination, it was still nice to have _someone_ there. She had spent a majority of her adult life alone, she didn't want to die that way too. "What was your name?"

"You'll figure that out in due time. When you're ready to know." He took a step toward her and she instinctually took a step back. There was something oddly intimating about him now that he had a physical body. Or…It was difficult to describe. "I have a proposition for you, Earlene Glover." Early raised her brows and pursed her lips, trying not to appear as surprised as she felt. His timbre took on a whole new gravity. He seemed older than time itself, ancient as the winds. What if everything he had said was true? What if he wasn't just a figment of her imagination? It seemed impossible. "I cannot go along with you. Someone must pay the Death God's price, as my friend once paid for me. You have the knowledge to make a difference. You will have the knowledge to make a difference." What was he talking about? "I can use the remainder of my energy to send you into another timeline—a world that was not torn apart by the ravaging wars. In my world, he won. And the world became a waking nightmare."

"What do you mean by all this?"

"Either both of us die, or it could just be me." He smirked. "I can send you to a version of my world. You can work to stop certain events from occurring again, the events that ended my previous life. That is the debt you would have to pay to me. You would have to give me your word." Early jerked at the idea of a debt. She had lived her entire life in debt and, if she took this opportunity for another life, she would be in debt again. This time it would be much more serious than monetary obligations. She would owe him her life.

"Why would you do this for me? You've only known me a month and you don't like me."

He shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "I do not have to _like_ you, Earlene. You are _useful_. There is nothing more to this decision than that. You can understand that, don't you? You have the ability to think clinically. What other choice do you see, aside from death? _My_ life is over, but I have just enough power to send you back…to pay off this debt you will owe me." He had a cruel point. If she had the ability to survive, albeit in another world, and he could maneuver her into his bidding, she could see the benefits. As if he could sense her acceptance, the Voice smirked even wider than before. "I do not know why the Death God placed me in _your_ mind, but I…can see a strength in you that you do not dare to see yourself. You will need that in your next life."

Next life?

Early felt a strange fluttering sensation flood her chest. Fear lanced through her. What had she agreed to? What did he mean by 'next life?' Her arms began to tingle and she suddenly felt weightless. Her numbing legs lifted from the ground and she could feel warm air whipping her hair around her face. This was it. Whatever it was.

"Voice, what—"

"Give me your word. You will protect him. Your word."

"I give you my word," she nodded before she could stop herself. She felt sick, desperately wishing to return to her once easy-going life. What was happening? How could this happen to her? Her, of all people.

"You will not remember, but you will _know_. I will give you knowledge of my world. Do with it what you will, but you will protect him. With your life, if necessary."

Who was she protecting? Her mouth moved without her bidding, binding her to this agreement. "I'll protect him."

In the blink of an eye, the Voice was gone. And instinctually, she already missed his presence. He was dead. Long dead. Gone. Like her. She was dead. Everything that she had once known was gone. Lost. Her family. Her few friends. Her job. All hopes and dreams that she might've once cherished. She was left in darkness, all-consuming shadows that weighed down on her eyes. The silence was deafening, pressing in on her ears. The lonesomeness of it all, that isolation, remoteness made her feel slightly crazed.

And then, her consciousness slowly started to fade.

* * *

**Author's Section:_  
_**

I've been wanting to write a Self-Insert OC for a while. And I feel like I will get a revised chapter up soon enough. This is just to get a feel for the reaction. Part of me wants to write this in first person, but I want to see how third person goes over. Please leave me any feedback you can. If you're interested please give me a little while to get this story moving along. This is just a test chapter to see if I should continue with this at all or just drop it.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Ink and Eagle

**Points of Divergence**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Two: Ink and Eagle**

* * *

She was covered with the dust of books, a film of grit lying like a second-skin over her exposed arms and hands. It was oddly comforting, a shield against the outside world. She practically bled ink and she smelled of aged paper, stale yet inviting. It was her natural state. At the nearby work station, bits of paper were strewn about almost like confetti after a village parade. It was a showcase of her profession, of everything she ever worked for. While the ninjas had their throwing stars and kunai, she—Okuda Chisato, that is—had her books and paper. And it was clear, through the meticulous methodical organization of those archives, that she was truly dedicated to her vocation. It has been said that only insanity or love could lead to that kind of careful cataloguing. Perhaps it was more the later.

Who could say for sure?

The items contained within that archive were commonplace, for the most part. They were mission reports, missives from the capital, and a whole lot of clan histories. Most of those histories had been collected by Chisato herself in her bid to protect the oral storytelling of her village. They were carefully handled, painstakingly transcribed and recorded by hand. They were nearly all written in her formal script, preserved for the ages. By her estimate, there were over three hundred recorded stories in that particular section of the archive alone.

That number was growing every day.

The permanent ink stains on her fingers were evidence of her constant struggle toward the maintained literary heritage of the village.

She was an archivist, a librarian, a researcher.

It was said that Okuda Chisato "bled black."

Like authors keep bits of paper with frivolous notes, Chisato kept each piece of paper that was provided by the donors. Every letter of eviction, every love note with sweet nothings scribbled during spare moments. Some were from the battlefields of the Second and Third Great Ninja War. Some from the founding of the village itself. Especially the love notes. Always the love notes. She kept everything she possibly could. Such was her conviction. There was no such thing as an 'unimportant' document. All of it contained a story to be told.

That was her upmost belief.

Every person holds a story.

As she was reaching for a file at the crest of the bookshelf, she felt a cool hand rest upon her shoulder. Chisato let out a yelp of surprise. So lonely was the job of the village archivist that she _rarely_ received visitors. And she was no kunoichi, so she had not sensed the presence of another person in the room until it was too late. The hand pushed her back down while another reached up to grab the file with ease.

When she turned, she was face-to-face with her husband. She was tall for a woman, thick and solidly built. She stood eye-to- eye with him, something that he loved. Despite his impressive muscles and his meaty presence, she did not cower. She instead puffed out her chest. "You scared the daylights me, Keisuke!"

"Sorry, sorry." He chuckled, "You know, you'd have to_ see_ daylight every once and awhile to know what it is."

She never could quite understand what he found funny most of the time. He was just naturally happy and cheerful. His endearing smile rarely left his face. It was a permanent fixture, a constant. As constant as the trees around the village. Even at the young age of twenty-five, he had laugh lines that patterned his face. Many of his friends and family said that he was the "happiest man alive." He often attributed that to his sweet wife.

She knew he had been happy since birth and never fell for the endearments.

Whenever that easy grin departed though, she always knew that the situation was dire. When he handed her the file, his crinkled eyes glanced downward. His expression grew a tad more serious. "You should be more careful in your condition, Chisato. You're already going against the doc's orders. This is about as far from 'taking it easy' as one can get, you know?"

Chisato gave him a look and he immediately held up both hands in surrender. He nervously laughed off her glare, one of his hands reached up to tug at the lobe of his ear. It had always been his nervous habit, tugging at that meaty part of his right ear. Running her tongue along her teeth, the archivist shifted her heavy weight from one leg to the other.

No matter how she stood, her body was uncomfortable. Her lower back ached terribly. Her feet throbbed from her almost-constant standing and she could feel the child within her moving around. It seemed the child would be like her father, enthusiastic by nature. When she ran her hand over the thin fabric that rested over her stretched skin, she could feel feet pressed against her palm. There was a distinct pressure in her pelvis, which she had been ignoring all day.

She was thirty-three weeks along.

"Do you have a _reason_ for coming down here, Keisuke? Not that I don't love seeing you, sweetheart, but you hate it down here." She maneuvered herself around him, brushing against his thigh as she did so. He laughed at her cheeky smile. "You do not normally brave the catacombs in the middle of the day, if you can help it." She glanced back and her gaze skittered over his attire.

Light gray flak jacket, form-fitting clothing that helped with his infiltration missions. Metal arm guards rested over his forearms. His mask was hooked onto his belt, an eagle peering back at her with intimidating red and brown markings. Her lips pursed and she turned back toward the work station. She nervously set about fiddling with the papers that rested there. That mask of his always made her uneasy.

"I didn't expect you to come by while you're on duty."

"I received a mission today." There was a sudden and undeniable weight in his voice and the air in the archive seemed to shift. Chisato felt a chill run down her spine. Her husband rarely used that tone of voice. She slipped the file onto the desk and waited for the inevitable. She was far from uninformed and she was _far_ from ignorant. She knew what mission he had been assigned. She just prayed against reason that she was wrong. "Minato requested that I serve as a guard. Tonight."

And there it was.

Chisato turned on her heel and forced down her instinctual reaction.

If she were any_ less_ of a person, she might've told him to deny the Hokage his wishes.

If she understood her husband a little less, she would have shook her head and told him that he had to look after his own family.

After all, his child was due to arrive in only a few weeks.

What if something went wrong? What if he never got to see his baby?

However, Okuda Chisato knew the situation and she knew her husband. It was his duty to protect the Hokage and the Hokage's kin. It was Keisuke's duty to protect Kushina and her as of yet unborn child. From that alone, it was _her—_Chisato's—duty to support her husband in that mission, by any means necessary. Even if she felt it was too dangerous. Even if she wanted to keep him to herself. It was her role as the wife of a ninja. Her hands fisted at her sides and she nodded her head. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Keisuke shook his head and the room seemed to grow even heavier. "It's my squad that's been called as guards. Minato knows he can trust us beyond all others. We're the first line of defense." His fingers fiddled with the mask on his hip. Chisato glanced to his shoulder, becoming entranced by the swirling tattoo that rested there on his thick bicep. She could remember when he got that tattoo, when she had traced her fingers over it in bed the following morning. He was so proud of his promotion. He was so proud to serve the Hokage—No, not just the Hokage. Okuda Keisuke was proud to serve _Minato_.

They called him "Captain" due to his experience in the field and he took his role seriously. He was well-respected. Earned his position through hard work and gumption. Years and years of missions, and now, he would be leading one of his most perilous tasks yet. And there was nothing she could do but support him. Nothing she could do. A thrill of fear lurched in her stomach and she thought she would throw up. Her hand absent-mindedly fell to her belly.

"You should go to the compound," Keisuke said after a moment. "There's no guarantee that things will be safe, you know? We both know how disastrous this could be." The threat went unspoken, but Chisato knew better than most what would happen if the demon got free of its bonds within Kushina. Oh, she was_ far_ from uninformed. She had seen such things before, the disasters that followed the loosing of the titans. "If you go to the compound, you should be safe. Besides, I would bet that Chōza would like to see you. We haven't had time to go to dinner lately."

In the blink of an eye, an arm was wrapped around her shoulders as he stood behind her, his other hand snaked down to rest on her stomach. She leant her head back against his shoulder. Something in her felt ill, sick. She worried that this would be the last time she would be held by him. She wondered if this would be the last time she would feel the warmth of him behind her. "Look—Look out for them, Keisuke. Minato has his hands full." She turned her head and pressed her lips against his cheek. She spoke as calmly as possible. "I am with you. Always."

"Love you," he murmured in return. He pressed his lips to the swirling pattern on her cheek and then, quite suddenly, Chisato was alone in the archives once more. He was fast, impossibly fast. For a single moment, she regretted that she never became a ninja like her brother. If she had, maybe she could have done something more.

The strength in her body seemed to leave her and she stumbled over to a nearby chair. It let out a metallic wail as she fell into it, her head was held in her hands. To herself and to the stories that surrounded her, she let out her worry in tearful gasps. Somehow, Chisato knew that she would never see her husband again.

Call it intuition.

Call it foreboding.

A pain erupted in her stomach then and she sucked in a gasp, hands flying down to rest on the lower side of her pregnant belly. Her thickly shaped brows pulled together as she held her breath. It was impossible. Too impossible. She sucked in a gasp as it throbbed.

She was only at thirty-three weeks.

It was too early.

The baby was early.

Another cramp made her shudder and Chisato's eyes went wide with realization. Taking a big gulp of air, she glanced around to the scroll that she kept for emergencies. It sat at the far edge of the workstation table. Her gaze skittered toward the elevator and stairwell entrance. There was no way that she would make it up the archive stairs and she felt certain that she would be unable to stand with the sudden intensity of the pain. The elevator was too far away. Gritting her teeth, she flailed her hand toward the scroll—her fingers scraping against the red and green parchment.

Grunting, she extended herself a little further and was able to wrap her fingers around the scroll. Her shaking hands set to untying the knot and she let it fall to the floor. There was a small explosion of smoke. It was Keisuke's summons—eagles. The fluttering of wings could be heard before Chisato felt the world begin to tunnel. Her heart felt as if it were beating at twice the speed it should have been.

Thirty-three weeks.

Early.

Too early.

Her baby was early.

"Su-Suzume," she wheezed. The pain was growing too quickly. What if she couldn't get to the hospital in time? She was meant to go to the compound, to see her brother and his familly. To be secure with them until her husband returned from his mission. What about— She grimaced, trying not to bite her tongue as the pain lanced up from between her legs. The baby was coming. Too soon. Far too soon. She couldn't feel her legs. "Suzume…" No! She couldn't let this happen. She was stronger than this. She would have to fight it, fight until she could get to the hospital.

It was _so sudden_.

The bird landed on a nearby stack of files. Its head flicked to the right and the left, gray feathers catching the lights. "Lady Chisato! What's wrong? Where is Lord Keisuke?"

"G-Get someone. A-Anyone. Please."

The bird flew off.

* * *

The night was warm and humid, strange weather for October. Such an atmosphere had ANBU Eagle on edge. He wasn't concerned so much with the goings-on inside the cave. That much would be in the trusted hands of the Hokage, Lady Biwako, and Taji. He had no doubts that Minato would do everything in his power to see the birth (and the seal) safely through. Not only that, Kushina was far too stubborn to die during childbirth. Still, he would be lying if he said the screaming didn't leave him wincing on the inside. Outwardly, though, he was completely emotionless—as any good ANBU should be during a mission. An errant thought made him wonder if his wife would cry out like that. He would never be able to bear his Chisato screaming like that.

It was the only thing that he was dreading about becoming a father—the pain that Chisato would have to endure.

Jumping onto a rock outcropping below, he dropped into a crouch. "Sense anything, Jackal?" All wayward thoughts of his little family were pushed from his mind.

"Negative." The ANBU subordinate responded, glancing toward the squad leader. "Orders?"

Eagle stood up and glanced about at the dark scenery. It had been an hour since he had sent Stag to run the perimeter. Considering that man's Swift Release, he should've been back long ago. "I want you to run the perimeter. Keep yourself well hidden, Jackal, and see if you can find Stag while you're at it." The white-haired ANBU disappeared. Eagle glanced back toward the three other ANBU under his command. One stood atop the pagoda, acting as a lookout. Hyuuga's always had been good for that position. Two others flanked the entrance.

A new—even more pained—scream rang through the air. Sighing, he turned back around and looked out at the forest. It was lucky that he had placed a barrier of silence over the entire two kilometer radius. Anyone with ears would be able to find them otherwise.

Hell, Iwagakure would be able to hear that kind of noise.

Yes, he hoped Chisato wouldn't scream like that.

He could handle a lot of terrifying things, usually with a smile on his face. But he certainly couldn't deal with that. And his wife would want him with her at the birthing.

Several minutes passed without incident, but it was that very silence that had Eagle feeling even more uneasy. Once again, he pushed the thoughts of his wife from his mind. He was being extremely unprofessional this evening. Maybe, just maybe, it was the feeling in the air. That tenseness that promised disaster. When he was younger, Eagle's father had taught him a parable about such atmospheres: _You must be aware, son, that it is often that from the calmest weather that the fiercest storms arise. _The air was too still, too calm. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

His head snapped fifteen degrees to the right. There it was. He could sense it.

"On alert." He stated in a low voice. The ANBU stationed behind him tensed at the sudden order. "Chakra presence in the tree line. My two o'clock." It was such a small amount of chakra that one might have overlooked it as an animal at first. Perhaps it was a signature meant to be overlooked. The kind adopted by infiltrators and spies. The feeling of it however, was so sinister that it inspired waking nightmares. Killing Intent. It left as quickly as it came, but it would've had any other shinobi shaking in their combat gear.

ANBU Eagle was no other shinobi. He didn't quiver. He just continued to stare in the direction of where the signature had last been felt. It appeared again and again, dancing all about the tree line. Eagle fisted his hands at his sides.

"He's toying with us." Wolf commented, darkness dancing around his feet. "I can feel him in the shadows. He's waiting for us to make the first move."

"Do not leave your posts." Eagle ordered in response. "Under no circumstances are you to allow this enemy to pass. Am I understood?" He shifted his weight, ready for whatever came out of the woodwork. With a smooth motion, he withdrew his short sword and prepared for an incoming attack. "I warn you. Leave this place at once. You will only receive one warning."

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Those shadows, under the direct control of Wolf, tried to keep him from moving. They were shaken off like nothing. This made a lance of uncertainty cut through Eagle's chest like a kunai. Wolf, otherwise known as Nara Shikaru (it's not that hard to figure out identities, really, after knowing each other since childhood), was one of the most powerful Naras the village had to offer. Perhaps the smartest as well, apart from his brother, Shikaku. For Wolf to lose control like that, the enemy's power must have been unbelievable. The clouds above moved just enough to allow moonlight down on the scene. Wolf's shadows faded away.

The man was masked, wearing a black cloak that hid his body. A hood covered the back of his head. Only one eye could be seen. That eye gleamed in the shimmering moonlight, a menacing red color. Eagle recognized it immediately, of course. Anyone would recognize that eye. An Uchiha. Behind his back, the squad leader signaled in code for the others. _Level Four—Hostile. Extreme caution._

"I will ask you once. Will you please move aside?" Such manners didn't seem to fit the situation. It was like the cat before the fish, one can never let their guard down in the presence of a known threat. When the ANBU guards did not move, the masked man shrugged. "So be it then."

"Wolf, Bull. Maintain positions. You know what to do." The formation changed as he ordered it. One of those under his command dropped down to the water in front of him. "Cougar." The ANBU Cougar charged.

The battle lasted less than ten seconds. Really, it couldn't be called a battle. It shook Eagle to the very core. To see Cougar, who was the best taijutsu specialist in the village, taken out with one single punch to the chest? Frightening didn't even begin to describe the terror that he felt. A friend of nearly ten years had just been killed in front of him in the most brutal way a man could be murdered. Hyuuga Hotaka's heart was thrown toward the forest for the animals to eat. His body dropped into the shallow water at the edge of the bank, blood diffusing in the lapping water. Eagle didn't even want to think of the man's family, of his younger brothers.

Wiping his hand off, the masked-man shook his head. "And this is the extent of Konoha's premier ANBU? Such a disgrace."

Bull started forward, but Eagle held out a hand. "No, don't fall for the bait."

"Captain—"

His attention went to the observing enemy nin. "You killed Stag and Jackal?" The opponent did not answer. Confirmation. Three of the best ANBU within less than an hour? Three of his good friends gone in such a short amount of time. This man was S-ranked or worse. The newly gleaned information did not bode well. With a hand signal, he motioned for Bull to warn the Hokage.

Before the larger ANBU could even turn to do so, the unknown ninja appeared in front of him. Eagle started toward the defense of his friend, but the very fabric of reality seemed to bend. Bull disappeared a moment later and the swirling of reality was pulled back into the mask. It was frightening, sickening. Space-Time was under this man's control. That could mean only one thing. Eagle just prayed he wasn't right about his guess. When Bull was spat back out again, his body was mangled and torn. It was almost as if Akimichi Daiki's skin had been peeled off, leaving only his muscles visible. It did not bear looking at. Eagle steeled himself as he did during times of war.

War.

He felt sick.

Bull had been his cousin by marriage.

That man had been family.

"Who are you?" The ANBU Captain questioned, slowly collapsing the silence barrier. If he could negate it entirely, then the Hokage would hear the proceedings outside of the cave. He could get some warning before all hell broke loose. He wondered though if Minato would be able to hear anything with Kushina's screams covering the sound of battle. Best to bide his time. "You're stronger than anyone I've ever encountered. That's saying something. I've fought some pretty impressive enemies."

"Mm, a compliment." The man said in a pleasant tone. "I thank you, Okuda. If you step aside, I will not kill you forthwith."

Eagle snorted, trying to hide his lurch of raw fear. He, being a shinobi, was well-aware of his own limitations. True enough, he was an expert in his skill set. He was able enough to rise to the rank of ANBU Captain, something that had been preached as "impossible" since his childhood. Okuda Keisuke was no pushover though. He was strong in his own right, but he also knew a lost cause when he saw one, especially one that put his own limits to the test. Still, that didn't give him any doubt in his words as he spoke them.

There was one man that he would give his life to protect above all others and, at that moment, Eagle knew that he was the only thing keeping that man and his family safe. If he failed in his duty to protect the Hokage, he would never forgive himself.

"I'd rather die than betray my Hokage to the likes of you," Eagle growled. He prepared himself for an attack, crouching into his particular taijutsu stance. His knees bent and his elbows rose.

The masked man shrugged again. "That can be arranged, too."

Muttering under his breath, he turned to share one last look with Wolf—Nara Shikaru. Back in the day, they had been teammates. It seemed that they were finally going to die together. "Hold him off as long as you can, Wolf. Die trying. Do not help me. Those are direct orders." _I wish you the best._

Nodding, the Nara positioned himself directly underneath the pagoda, the last line of defense. "Tch, you don't need to tell me that, Eagle." _Good luck, my friend._

Stepping forward, the Okuda tried to keep the negative thoughts from his mind. Inside, his best friend—for that was what Minato was to him— was becoming a father. Kushina was suffering through what had to be a terrible birth. If the roles were reversed and he were the one with a birthing wife, Minato would have done the same. He would have given anything to protect those important to him. Little Naruto should be welcomed into the world by both of his parents, not by some psycho with a mask. If it took his life to see that through, then it was a duty he accepted. No matter the cost.

A hand extended outward, tossing the sword he held away. Kenjutsu was not his strong point, never had been. There would be no sense in wasting time with it. His skill lied mainly in ninjutsu. He would use that to hold off his enemy. Launching into a series of complicated hand-seals, he dropped the silence barrier entirely. The wind began to twist and crackle with energy as he prepared. Over Kushina's screams, he doubted the sounds could be heard. It was the best he could do.

His arm blocked a quick blow and he leapt to the side, avoiding every hit that the man aimed. Once he had the masked-man far enough from the cave entrance, he made a dragon seal.

Out of the clouds above, a column of clouds and wind dropped over the opponent. With quick motions, Eagle threw over one hundred kunai into the swirling vortex. It was his deadliest attack and the most expensive in terms of chakra.

The masked-nin looked unruffled as the tornado died away. "Storm Release, eh? How quaint." In a fluid movement, Eagle was knocked backward, splashing into the thin water. He couldn't even figure out how he had been hit. The movements were just too quick. It was disorienting. Especially since he often sparred with Minato. This man would give even the Hokage a run for his money. Maybe even a run for his life? No, Eagle wouldn't allow that to happen. "You're brave. I'll give you that much. If a little reckless—"

Grinning, though the man couldn't see it, Eagle pushed himself up and leapt away into a graceful backflip. Underneath the water, where he had laid just moment before, the rocks began to glove a faint red color. As the tags exploded, the fabric of reality ripped open again and swallowed what would have been a massive blast. Nearly seventy explosive tags and there was not a sound issued. The man must've realized that the barrier of silence was gone. Eagle cursed to himself and readied for another attack. The masked man only turned slightly to face him before blinking out of existence.

Performing another dragon seal, Eagle avoided a killing blow to the chest with a quick sidestep. His fingers twisted into various seals and water shot up into the air as a wall rose from the ground. It was another barrier, on that blocked ANBU Wolf from view, as well as the cave in which his friends were located. It was like a black and crimson veil had been dropped over the scene. That barrier was his strongest on hand and Eagle could feel the cost of it in his chakra reserves. He was starting to get weaker and weaker.

So many years he had striven to become a good ninja warrior—a good, skillful shinobi.

Was this the extent of all that work?

Could he not even save his friends?

What about Chisato? What would become of her if this masked man released the Kyuubi?

"You are quite skilled with barrier techniques. Something learned, perhaps? Cannot say I'm surprised."

He felt something hit his chest suddenly and he was tossed backward, tumbling over the water to make sudden contact with the newly-formed barrier. It shattered like thin ice and he careened about thirty feet beyond a silent Wolf. A stray thought occurred to him then. His barrier would not weaken like that unless…Unless…He weakly forced himself into a standing position and appeared in front of Wolf again with a flicker. That blow had been mortal, he realized. He could feel it now. His body's senses were catching up with the injury. He was on borrowed time. Not much longer.

Minutes, perhaps. Only minutes.

His arms began to tingle, a chill settling in his toes. His fingertips…he couldn't feel them.

"You're still standing." The masked man observed, sounding vaguely impressed. "That is quite a feat, Okuda. You should be proud. You are either strong or stubborn."

Both.

Eagle was fighting to remain conscious and upright. If he failed in this mission, even the genius Nara wouldn't stand a chance to hold this enemy off, and then Minato and his family would be in danger. They would be completely helpless to an attack. To his last breath, Eagle steeled himself, he would protect his friends. Minato had saved his life more times than he could count. This time, he would return the favor. Gathering his chakra, the ANBU Captain prepared for one last push, one last ditch effort. His lips curled up into a smile and he forced out a chuckle. That son of a bitch had no idea what was coming his way. After all, he didn't earn his rank as an ANBU for nothing. He had worked hard to _earn_ that position.

If anything, Eagle—Okuda Keisuke, that is—knew he was going to go down fighting. He'd fight to his final breath.

That was his Will of Fire.

With a speed that only a desperate man could possess, he sealed his clan's most powerful technique. "Good luck, Wolf." The Nara nodded and the sequence was complete. The rush of wind raced outward from the Okuda, effectively pushing the masked attacker out and away from the cave with a reddish-purple energy. Lightning crackled with it. Overhead, thunderclouds swirled ominously. This was the pinnacle of his strength, his last attempt to protect his Hokage.

Somewhere in his mind, he wondered if history would remember him.

He knew that it wouldn't.

History never remembers the unnamed soldiers.

Eagle fell to his knees, shame cutting through him like a blade. He didn't have the strength. The water splashed with the sudden impact of his collapsing body. Like a sling-shot, the technique collapsed inward. Eagle fell forward onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily. He had always dreaded the day when he would hear his own death rattle, the sound of blood in his lungs.

He never thought he would die like this—at the hands of such a nemesis. The evil chakra appeared right before him, but the energy to fight was no longer in him. He had nothing left, no energy to keep fighting. One of the downsides to such a powerful attack, it drained too much chakra.

A foot came out of nowhere, kicking him from the water into the air. And the masked man jumped up with him. With one glowing hand, Eagle's stomach was punctured. The same hand, in rapid succession, hit several of his vital organs. He was repeatedly stabbed. He could feel bits of himself being pulled away with each jab. Never had he believed he would die in battle. Foolishly optimistic. That's what Minato had always said. Still, Eagle thought he would live to see his own grandchildren someday. Finally, the hand was withdrawn from his right lung. A moment later, he fell back to Earth.

He didn't even feel it when his body hit the water.

Somewhere in the mist, he could hear his final barrier seal being broken. It caused his body to lurch as blood flooded the back of his throat. Wolf was completely open to attack. Eagle could hear the Nara fighting with all he had—trying to keep the opponent at bay. Shikaru…His last living teammate…With as much strength as he could muster, he rolled to his back and tried to move toward the fight. There was a last ditch effort. The masked man had Wolf by the throat. Then, everything went eerily silent. His head back forward into the water and he felt himself somewhere else, distant. Everything seemed to slow. He prayed that Minato and his family would survive, that he wouldn't meet them in the afterlife too soon. He prayed for his wife, that she would survive with their baby, who was due in a month's time. His little Miho, his little one. He'd never get to see her.

He hoped she looked like her mother.

A smile pulled at his lips, but he was too weak to sustain it.

He heard an infant's cry and the world went black.

* * *

The hospital was in disarray, absolute chaos. There was an overflow of critical injuries, far too many for the hospital to manage. Triage was set up in the emergency room and an overflow was set up in the evacuation facilities. Hospital staff had never seen such a large scale disaster and many were unpracticed, fresh medic-nins who had never truly seen such widespread devastation.

The traumatic injuries were disturbing to even the most experienced of doctors—missing limbs, blast-like injuries, partially torn bodies, and crushed bodies. Some were deemed lost causes, as is natural for any sort of triage situation. Whole families had been killed, entire clans wiped out of existence.

In a small corner of that overrun hospital, a little infant girl lay alone in a tiny bed. Her eyes were closed and her chest struggled to rise and fall. Her skin was a pale pinkish color, thin brown hair peeking from under her light pink toboggan. The bed was covered by a plastic dome-like structure, something that was placed half-hazard over the little baby to keep her warm and to keep the air oxygen rich. The sounds of the world, of the chaos outside, felt distant there. It was the best the doctors could do in the middle of a crisis.

A nurse entered into the dark room, holding the door open for a man as he stepped inside. Light and sound filtered into the room from the tumultuous hallway. His expression was grim as he looked to the woman who lay still in the large bed at the center of the room. Her limbs were lying at her sides, her hair still matted to her forehead from the stress of labor. He could still see ink stains on her fingers from her work in the archives. The distinctive swirl markings of his clan tinted her cheeks.

The man's exhausted gaze lingered on the eerily still form of his sister, a sick feeling entering his stomach. She was too young to die, only twenty-two. Two years younger than him. His baby sister, _dead_. She had been dead for hours, he realized. She had died _alone_. Nothing set him more on edge than that nauseating realization. Chisato had died alone. He couldn't imagine her pain or her fear. Giving birth in the middle of a disaster—premature, early at that.

She had to be so scared.

A high-pitched fussing sound caught his attention and he turned slightly to see a small bed in the corner of the room. His breath caught. How could they—"You…You left the baby here?" He strode over to where the infant was housed, his large hands rising up to rest on the plastic dome. It was a little girl. They had been intending to keep the gender a secret until the birth. It was meant to be a happy occasion. The little girl squirmed, little swirls evident on her cheeks. A sad smile pulled at his lips. She took after her mother. "You left her with her d-dead mother? For _how long_?"

"We… had no choice. Okuda Chisato died just moments before the attack." The nurse sounded anxious and grief-ridden. Chōza watched her frantic eyes skitter toward the doorway. "If there is nothing else, Lord Akimichi, I must get back to the emergency room. We have far more infants than we can handle at the moment. Most of them will be funneled into the orphanage system as soon as possible." The woman started for the door, obviously readying herself for the onslaught of mayhem outside. He watched the nurse pause on her way out. "She died for a few moments." His brows rose, gaze flickering down to his tiny niece as she took small, quick breaths. He felt sickened. He nearly lost everything of his sister—including her daughter. "That little girl right there is a _survivor_."

With that, the nurse left.

Akimichi Chōza pulled in a breath and settled his attention once more on the baby—an orphan. Okuda Keisuke had been killed with the rest of his ANBU squad. His body had been found only a couple hours after dawn. And Chisato…Reaching down, he took hold of the clipboard that hung on the edge of the bed and read the notes that were scribbled there.

"Miho," he murmured. Tears began to fill his eyes as the stress of the past day began to topple over him like a tidal wave. So many had been lost, but that little name made him feel the first bit of happiness in hours. "They named you after your grandmother, my mom—my mother. I-I should have known. Chisato always said…said she would…"

He pressed his lips together and nodded resolutely. This was what Keisuke would want, what his sweet sister would want. There was really no question about it, no inner debate over the merits of what he was about to do. It was natural. Keisuke had been an orphan with no family. This little girl had nowhere to go, but to her mother's family and he would take her in with wide open arms. No doubt entered Akimichi Chōza's mind or heart. His wife would be in agreement. Her kind heart knew no bounds. Their own child was only a few months older. This was one of the easiest decisions in his life, if the heaviest.

"Akimichi Miho," he murmured to the infant. "I'm your Papa now." He glanced over his shoulder to his sister's body and then his eyes glanced toward the window. Smoke was still rising from the ruins of the village. He followed that smoke to the blue sky above. "Chisato, Keisuke…I'll-I'll protect her as my own. I give you my word. From this moment forward, she'll be my daughter."

* * *

**Author's Section**

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. It took a lot of work and I am still growing as a writer, so I hope that the action scene with the ANBU vs. Tobi went well enough. I will continue to hone my craft on combat scenes as there will be quite a few in this fic. The description is thick and I'm still working on a nice balance with third person narration.

I feel like a few explanations are in order:

Chisato was meant to mislead you at the beginning. Most likely suspected her as Earlys reincarnation. Misdirection is a shinobi art, after all.

I chose the Akimichi Clan because that is the clan that I connect most with. Not due to size (which is what most people recognize them for), but instead because of their _beliefs._ They do not judge based on appearance. They are open-minded and are often _underestimated_. I have tremendous respect for the Akimichi Clan and I feel that they are often ignored. Therefore, I decided to bring my character into their family dynamics.

As stated in the previous chapter, Early will retain no memories of her former life—but it remains to be seen how other things will develop with time. I won't spend too much time on her childhood, but I will develop her character. That is my main goal.

Not to mention, there will be a certain amount of mythos surrounding her parents. I absolutely love her parents and they are wonderful, wonderful people. They will have their own stories to tell and their own dynamics as a part of this story. It was a difficult decision to kill them off as I didn't want to risk that stereotype of an orphaned kid in a Naruto-fic, but I will work to make this different. I am not one for unneeded angst unless it is directly connected to character development.

I was **BLOWN AWAY** by the positive feedback I received on the first chapter and **I want to extend a huge amount of gratitude to every review, follow, and favorite I have gotten for this story.** I hope not to disappoint. _**Thank you all so much!**_

**Please leave me reviews/feedback/cookies and I hope to have another chapter out in a couple weeks!**


	3. Remedial

**Points of Divergence **

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies **

**Chapter Three: Remedial**

* * *

Sarutobi Hiruzen sat at the wooden desk, listening to the ticking of the clock. He took a long, labored drag from his pipe before he glanced up from the scroll that sat unfurled on his lap. This was the sound of life—the calm, consistent ticking of the clock and the distant giggles of children playing. The corners of his lips ticked upward. Life was passing by as usual. It was a rare day, this one. There had been no fiascos, no unmanageable chaos. Just the ticking of the clock, counting down the moments until another great disaster struck.

Perhaps that was fatalistic thinking, but it was true for the life of a Hokage. All moments led to terrible moments, which led to moments of normalcy, to moments of great triumph and then down to the depths of hell again. It was life, in the most simple of graphs. Ups and downs, as always.

He shifted, glancing toward the scroll again. It seemed there had been another incident at the orphanage. Yet another fool had tried to kill the Fourth Hokage's legacy. Still his hands were tied. There was little he could do to ease the tension, little that would deter the heartache and pain that plagued his people's hearts. Sighing, he sat the scroll on the desk and leaned back in his chair. The clock continued to tick and tock. He turned the chair ever so slightly to look out on the village.

It was a cold and misty morning. Konoha was just waking from its slumber. The scant few artisans and shinobi could be seen in the mists that lingered about the ground. It was a grey dawn, painted with some yellows and oranges. Those morning hues crept into deeper tones of blue and purple past the trees on the eastern horizon. The scenery was beautiful, just as he always remembered it to be. Still, there was so much missing from that sunrise. Such as his wife and his son. Biwako had always loved sunrise.

A sharp knock broke the ticked silence and Sarutobi turned slightly to remove his gaze from the village. Instead, he refocused his attention on the scroll. He cleared his throat to remove the excess emotion that might've lingered in his closed throat. There was little time for mourning. There had never truly been a time for mourning. Such was the life of a Hokage. "Come in."

Appearing in the doorway was the leader of Konoha's largest (quite literally) clan. Akimichi Chōza took a large stride inside before closing the door behind himself. "Lord Hokage." The burly man took a few more strides and knelt down into a formal show of submission. "Greetings this morning."

"Chōza, there is no need for such formality." The Hokage responded, his brows pulling together in concern. For the Akimichi Clan Head to show such deference, there must have been something extremely troubling indeed. Though undoubtedly loyal and submissive, the Akimichi Clan had always shown themselves to be ones who stood up for what they believed right. By the way Chōza was behaving and the determined expression he held on his face, Hiruzen surmised that this was to be a matter of great moral concern. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Lord Hokage, are you aware that I have a daughter?" The armored shinobi lifted his head and waited for an answer.

Hiruzen lifted his silver brows, caught slightly off-guard by the question. "Of course. She's your sister's child, if I recall correctly." His laced his fingers and sat his folded hands on top of the scroll. "Her mother was a sweet woman. She was quite close to my son, Mizaru. Okuda Chisato. Yes, I remember her well." He could clearly recall her presence at Mizaru's wedding, along with her husband. That had been such a good day. Now, three-quarters of the attendees were dead. His head shook and he motioned for the Akimichi to rise. "You did not come here to ask me that, Chōza."

"No, Lord Hokage." Chōza agreed immediately. "It's just that…" The man trailed off, looking past the Hokage and out toward the waking village. His stance became straighter and he took on a more militaristic stance. Hiruzen sat forward a little, waiting for whatever was about to be said. "Sir, I request permission that she start Academy this year, at least in some capacity."

Hiruzen's eyes widened and he had to admit his shock. Despite his extended stint in the Hokage's seat, there had never been an Akimichi requesting early admission. Out of all the village clans, the Akimichi tended to avoid sending their children out into the jaws of the Academy so early. The normal age of admittance was six years and that was generally the limit that the Akimichi Clan followed. It gave their children time to accumulate the necessary weight for chakra usage. Early admissions were rare, perhaps once every couple of generations. "Explain."

Chōza nodded. "Sir, she is mature for her age. That much is certain. She shows real passion for the profession. I have already discussed with her the commitment that comes with our way of life. Miho has many times declared herself ready for the obligation. It was not until recently that I discovered something disturbing, however." Hiruzen motioned for the man to continue. The worry was evident in his tone, however much the experienced front-liner tried to hide it. "She is clumsy, sir. It is almost as if she is uncertain of how to properly orchestrate her body. At times, she will take strides that are too large for her body or she will overextend herself in physical training. It is worrying as our family deals primarily in jutsu that involve body coordination."

"So, you are not seeking early admission due to her genius, but rather as a means for remediation?" It was a surprise to the Hokage. Admittedly, it had happened in years past that certain clans would request early admission for remedial purposes. Those instances were even more few and far between. Often, it put too much of a strain on a young mind. Or it was a blight to the family name. "You believe that she can handle the training and the coursework? She is only five years old. The other students her age will not begin until next year."

"As I said, sir, she is mature for her age. She knows that she is awkward in her movements. Often she attributes it to her weight. However, I doubt that as she has always been overweight simply from clan affiliation. I have observed my children playing 'ninja' with other children." Chōza explained as levelly as he could. "Chōji show no such difficulty. He is slow, but that will improve with time. His main trouble will arise largely from his self-confidence."

"And you believe that she will make a kunoichi? Do you believe that your son will make a good shinobi?" It was a question he had wanted to ask since learning of Chōza's adoption of the girl. The occasion never came up to ask such a cold inquiry. However, the village was in desperate need of shinobi—especially kunoichi. There was quite the batch of students that would be starting school soon. He had heard reports of the Nara boy's genius, of the Yamanaka's tenacity. He knew of the Hyuuga girl's shy nature and the Inuzuka's rambunctiousness. Now, the Akimichi. What were they bringing—the son and daughter of the butterflies?

"Chōji is kind-hearted. He will make a formidable opponent one day, when he gains his confidence. Once he finds something to fight for, the village will find itself with an indomitable protector." Hiruzen nodded, seeing the pride that Chōza had for his son. Sure enough, he had observed the boy and his kindness. He hoped to see it continue into maturity. "My Miho is steadfast. She is uncertain in herself, like my boy, but I believe that she will become a ninja like her father before her. She holds his Will, I believe."

"Okuda Keisuke…" Hiruzen murmured. "We lost so many good people that night." He shifted, rubbing his forehead in his gnarled hand. "The objective is remediation and I cannot deny the opportunity to a daughter of Konoha. She will begin tutelage under Chūnin Emiko effective tomorrow at six hundred hours. There will be no advancement until she completes this year of courses. The official start of her education will begin when your son, Akimichi Chōji, begins his education at the Academy. This is my ruling as Hokage."

Chōza pressed his meaty fist into his palm and bowed forward. "Thank you, Lord Hokage."

When the Akimichi Clan Head left, Hiruzen turned to look out of the window once more. The sun was over the trees now, the mists having flown away with the winds. More and more villagers walked out into the crisp early morning air. Curious, he turned and fished out his crystal ball, focusing his mind on the young girl in question. For the Akimichi to request her admission and since her father was such a well-respected shinobi, he could only imagine what kind of woman Akimichi Miho would grow to be.

* * *

A little girl woke up with a start, gasping for breath.

She had been running through a dense forest, barely avoiding the trunks of enormous trees as she ran. She continued to stumble, crying out every time she hit her knees. Breathing was so terribly difficult. Her body was unprepared, unfit for such exertion. Her weight made her move slower and the more she ran, the more impenetrable the woodlands became. There was a deafening roar behind her as a gust of hot air knocked her down from behind. The trees groaned in protest as the shockwave hit them. She hurriedly pulled herself from the ground, noticing the way the forest seemed to come alive underfoot.

Vines had twisted beneath her sandals as branches struck out against her face. She had scratches decorating her cheeks, blood coursing down her throat. There was a terrified feeling of loss and fear that overtook her chest as she ran. Was she running toward something or away?

Out of nowhere, the vines leapt over her and morphed into chains. She was pinned to the earth, her screams muffled by the burning wind. The chains seemed to sear her skin, melting away the flesh that rest beneath them. She let out a terrified yell as the trees bent in the gusts of destruction. She could see beyond the leaves and into the night sky.

A red moon.

Heart pounding in her chest, she reached over and turned on her beside lamp. She fell back against the pillows and gasped. It was an old nightmare, as old as her. She thought that she had outgrown it months ago, but no such luck. As long as she could remember, she had the same images haunting her dreams.

She never told her parents. She didn't want them to worry. They already were concerned enough for her well-being. Another tally to the score of her failures was something she didn't want to add. She just kept the nightmares to herself. It was easier that way.

Her gaze flickered to the clock. 6:29 a.m. In just a matter of moments—A loud, obnoxious bleating noise erupted from the box and she reached over to slam a violent hand against the clock. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Her mouth twisted into a grimace. That was the third clock in the past six months. She just couldn't seem to control her body. Sometimes it was too much and sometimes too little. It never seemed to make sense.

Pushing herself out of bed, she padded over to her closet. She slipped a too-large t-shirt over her head and pulled on a pair of pants that covered her flabby legs. It was a self-conscious way of dressing. She always tried to wear loose-fitting clothing so that her weight was less visible. Even at five, she was _uncomfortably_ aware of her weight. Maybe it was because she felt older. She had always felt and thought older than her age. Maybe her awareness of appearances was due to that. Miho couldn't say for sure. She just knew that it was something that even her brother was aware of. He was even more self-conscious than she.

The children at the park never did help with the negative self-image either, but she always tried to take them in stride.

She moved over to see herself in the mirror behind the door and pulled her hair up into a high pony tail. The unruly mess jutted out in different directions, but she made absolutely no effort to tame it. Besides, what did it matter? She was going to train anyway. And who would she impress with nicely kept hair? No one. Shrugging, she grabbed the brown scarf from the door handle and wrapped it loosely around her neck as she left her bedroom.

Chōji was stepping out of his own bedroom down the hall, a smile breaking on his face as he saw her. He had formed the habit of getting up early, too. "Miho, are you going to train?" She nodded, grabbing his hand as they moved toward the kitchen. "You know, Papa said for you to take it easy…M-Maybe you should stop for a day." Chōji's voice was uncertain, worrying. It was just like him, too. Chōji was always concerned for her. Sometimes, Miho even felt as if she were the older sibling with the way she constantly reassured him. "You—You can't learn everything at once, you know."

"Don't want to," Miho grinned. "I wanna be able to run a lap without falling down. That's it. Just that."

It was a simple goal, but one that seemed hopelessly impossible. She could walk perfectly fine, most of the time. There were just moments when, inexplicably, she would forget how to move. Her movements would become strange and forced. It was like she was in the wrong body or something, like she expected her arms to be longer or her legs to be fuller. It was hard, difficult to move. When she was unable to think about her actions, her body wouldn't work in sync with her mind. She would apply too much pressure and break something, or she would trip and fall over.

"Mum," Chōji called as they entered the kitchen. Miho trailed after her brother, paying attention to the way the floor changed textures. She had to be aware with the way her feet were connecting with the ground. Many times, she had lost her footing in the doorway of the kitchen and gone sprawling on the tile floor. Her brother shuffled over to where the potato chips were housed in a large bucket. "Miho wants—" He tossed a chip into his mouth. "—to train some more."

"Does she now?" Her mother turned and placed her hands on her hips. "Your father told you to take a break for a while. You still have scratches on your forehead from the fall." Miho grimaced as her mother stepped forward to run a tender hand against her cheek. "You shouldn't start training again for another week at least. How is your ankle feeling?"

"But I want to be a ninja! How can I be a ninja when I fall down all the time? I need to train to get better!" Miho's voice took on a whining tone. When her mother's eyes narrowed, she backtracked. "I mean, I w-wanted to get permission first!" She glanced over to where Chōji was watching the exchange. He made no effort to intervene, simply munching on his snack. She shot him a look and he just closed his eyes, continuing to eat his chips. "I want to be a ninja like Chōji."

"Chōji isn't a ninja yet," her mother responded in an equal tone. She released her hold and allowed Miho to grab a flurry of snacks from the nearby snack barrel. "Chōji won't even start Academy until next year, Miho. The same as you. You have time. You can both become ninja together."

Miho felt a wave of nervous energy flutter over her chest. Despite being only five, she knew that she didn't have much time. Time was everything that she _didn't _have. It was a strange feeling, honestly, like two parts of her were warring with each other. She could feel a sense of foreboding welling in her stomach. "I—I wanna become the best kunoichi! If I can't do that, then…" Her voice trailed off. Then what? She'd be just another person? She'd be the odd one out? Her hand delved into the potato chip bag blindly and she popped a bit into her mouth. She frowned, gagging at the flavor.

A bag appeared in front of her face as Chōji held it out for her to take. His other hand was extended to accept the pickle-flavored chips she held. Miho smiled widely, taking the proffered exchange. Chōji smiled in return. "I know you hate pickles. I love 'em!" He made a dramatic show of eating the pickle-flavored monstrosities.

Miho smiled widely, throwing an arm over her brother's shoulder. They stood like that when their father entered the kitchen. Chōza's eyes scanned them over, an amused expression pulling at his strong features. Both children stood at nearly the same height with Miho just an inch or so shorter than the heir. Her arm was awkwardly lifting up her right hand side, a chip bag held in her hand. "Papa!" They both crowed and ran toward him, knocking into his legs.

"So much energy this morning! What did you feed them?"

Miho stepped back, noticing her mother's eyes rolling dramatically. "I didn't feed them anything special, Chōza. They're just naturally energetic." Her hand shot out to grab Miho's shoulder. "Especially this one. She's got more energy than we can handle. I think we should sell her to the circus."

Chōji jumped to her aid, waving his snack in the air. "No! No! You can't sell my sister! That's not fair!"

Chōza laughed and Miho faked a struggle for freedom, knowing that the whole charade was for fun. She made a show of pulling herself free from her mother's grasp, but put no real effort into the movements. Chōji stared at the scene with wide eyes, clearly concerned. Her mother leaned forward and smiled widely. "She'd make a fine lion tamer, don't you think?"

Chōza grinned, reaching down to pull Chōji into his grasp. Miho watched as her brother gasped with the sudden strong grip around his waist. He had a death grip on the chips and he seemed to be considering using them as a distraction. He looked to her and she shook her head. Honestly, he could get so worked up over the simplest things. Seeing that she wasn't concerned, he relaxed a bit and his eyes seemed to sharpen. This was a game. "What about this little man? I think he'd make a great bearded lady!"

"I'm not a _girl!_"

Chōza let out a crow of laughter. "You hear that, Masako? Miho says she's not a girl!"

"I'm not Miho!"

"He's not me!" Miho called out, gesturing toward her brother. A giggle was starting to build up in her chest as her mother dropped down to one knee beside her to envelop her in a warm hug. Across the kitchen, her father mirrored the same action. He pulled Chōji into a sincere hug. Miho stared at her brother and smiled as widely as she could, laughing at how wonderful her family was. She had a caring brother, a supportive mother, and a loving father. Hers. All hers.

Her mother stood and released her. Her father did the same. He rounded the table and moved to grab a snack from the snack barrel. "I spoke to the Hokage this morning." Miho moved to stand next to Chōji again, feeling lighter than she had all morning. "He has assigned you to a remedial schoolwork at the Academy, Miho. To help with your coordination." She jerked her head around, surprised. "You start tomorrow." Her hand absently searched for her brother's. He did the same. Since they were children, they had rarely been separated. Their fingers laced together.

"What about—?" Chōji stopped and lowered his head. _What about me?_ went unsaid.

Miho glanced to her brother and frowned. He was feeling useless again. "Papa, is this because I keep falling? Because I know I'm not a prodigy. They wouldn't let me in for any other reason, right?" He nodded. She turned to Chōji and grinned, bumping his shoulder with her own. "See, Chōji? It's because I'm such a klutz! You've always been better than me with ninja stuff! You don't fall down all the time. You can actually _run_ when you want to!"

"I always get caught when we play ninja," Chōji murmured. "They make f-fun of me for it."

"They make fun of me, too! They call me—" She stopped cold, shaking her head. They called her all kinds of names, but Chōji already knew all of them. Miho refocused on something else. "You're still more awesome than me at it! That's why they're making _me_ go to these classes because I suck!"

"Miho, language." Her mother admonished absently.

She laughed happily, looking to her father for confirmation. He grinned and nodded his head. "After that, I can start the Academy? I can be a ninja? Right? I'll start with Chōji, right?"

"That's right," Papa responded. Miho gave a jubilant cry of victory. "Chōji, this does not mean that you get to slack off. You're still going to practice." Her brother seemed to melt into the floor beside her. "Miho, you must focus on your goal. You need to gain a better control on your body. You cannot be a ninja without that control." Miho nodded with a determined expression on her face. There was not one bit of doubt in her mind. She would be able to overcome! "Alright, now go get some rest. I don't want you training today."

"But Papa—"

"No buts. Chōji, come along." Miho released her brother's hand as he went off to train with their father. She watched them go as some apprehension filled her heart. "Miho, rest. Now." Kicking out a leg, she tapped the snack barrel with the toe of her sandal. A crack appeared along the side and the wood seemed to creak. Her mouth twisted into a glower and she looked to the ground. She would have to get better control over her body or else everything would fall apart. She didn't quite know what that 'everything' was, but she could feel the tension of it in her shoulders.

"Fine, but I'm taking the cookies. All of them."

Her mother gave a sigh of resignation.

Turning on her heel, Miho grabbed a few snacks from the counter and made her way back to her room.

* * *

Oh, she was used to being called "fat" by other people. It was an everyday occurrence for her. She took it all in stride, using her seemingly never-ending patience to outlast the insults and barbs that flew her way. It had been the same thing day-after-day since she was just a little baby. At only five years old, she had it pretty much reasoned out. If anyone thought for two seconds about the symbol on her t-shirt, they would realize that she hailed from a clan that made its name on being overweight or hefty in size. If people were too slow or too dumb to figure that out, then that reflected poorly upon _them_ and had no effect on her whatsoever. This all being said, the insults did sometimes hurt more than she let on.

"What's that fatty doing here?"

That was the first thing she heard as she walked out to lunch. She stopped still, black eyes flickering toward where the comment had hailed from. A few girls were sitting in the grass, their eyes trained on her. Miho, for her part, tried to force a smile. This was nothing new, after all. "Fat" this, "useless" that. It never changed. Her shoulders tensed when they began to laugh behind their hands.

"Hey, fatty! What're you doing in the Ninja Academy? Shouldn't you be off eating cookies or something?"

Taking a deep breath, Miho decided that it wasn't worth the effort. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a bag of potato chips, slipping one onto her tongue. It was salty, just the right flavor to distract her from the ignorant girls who were catcalling her as she walked past. "Not really in the mood for cookies," she muttered to them as they laughed. "Chips taste better when dealing with stupid people." The last bit couldn't be heard by her harassers, but they did make her feel a bit more victorious. It was only her first day and she could see how the rest of the year was going to go. No friends, no kindness. Just hurt and insults.

That was alright. She could deal with that.

Just one year and Chōji would be with her. Just one year and she could start on her journey into being a kunoichi. She just had to deal with it for one year and everything would be fine. With that in mind, she trailed her way to a secluded corner of the building—shaded from the sun and from the other children. It was there, in the dirt, that she opened her lunch box and began to chow down on her packed meal. It was full of all her favorites, including a bag of Chōji's favorite flavor potato chips. It was his way of backing her up, she knew.

"Ew! Don't come near me, dead last!" Her attention perked up at the loudness of that screech. Her body rolled around to the corner of the building so that she could see whatever was happening. A boy, who looked to be her age—was standing only a few feet away from the mean girls who had insulted her just moments before. His expression was heart-rending. Miho felt sick at the way he seemed to shake in front of them. One of the girls stood and tossed something at him. When he didn't move to defend himself, Miho felt her vision begin to tunnel.

She couldn't seem to draw a breath. Images flashed in her mind—images from her nightmares. Blond hair, red eyes. Blue eyes. Black flames. A loud roar and a crimson mood. Miho was on her hands and knees, fighting to gulp air. Her entire body felt as if it were on fire, aching and burning. Every fiber of her being seemed to scream the exact same thing: _PROTECT HIM_.

_"Protect him,"_ a voice ordered in her mind.

She struggled to her feet, tripping slightly in her haste to get to him. Her knee skinned the ground, but no blood came from the ripped skin. She had developed calluses long ago. She had no idea who he was or why she felt driven to defend him. She just knew that she had to do_ something_. In her mind, she wondered what she could possibly _say_ to defend him. There was nothing that she could think of other than, "Stop it!" Nothing quite like the direct approach.

All eyes in the clearing turned to her and she felt a wave of nervous energy crash over her head. It was all she could do to keep from quaking out of her sandals. Fidgeting, she did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed her potato chip bag and stuffed one into her mouth. It was a calming sensation. The salt distracted her from the hornet's nest she had just stepped into. Her eyes glanced over to where the boy stood. He looked absolutely dumbfounded. Miho had never liked attention and having the attention of the whole class had her more nervous than ever before.

"Y-You shouldn't pick on people." She said through the remnants of potato in her mouth. The girls recoiled, glares erupting on their pretty faces. Miho didn't back down. She could feel that determination within her, wherever it came from. She was going to defend him until she couldn't anymore. "It makes you _ugly_." Her chin rose and she looked over to where the blond kid stood. She was about to do something she had never done before. It was the ultimate show of friendship from an Akimichi. "Wanna eat with me? I've got lots of food. Mum's the best cook in town."

She offered him her food.

When he didn't respond, she felt concern grip her. It was like he didn't know what to say to that kind of question. Her gaze flickered toward the mean girls, who were watching the exchange like a bunch of hawks. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she glanced down at herself and ran a hand over her stomach. Maybe he just didn't want to be seen with someone…like her.

"You don't have to eat with me if you don't want—"

"Yeah! Hell yeah, I do!" The blond shouted. "That'd be awesome!"

A grin pulled at her lips. She jerked her head toward her space in the dirt corner. He beamed as if he had just been given the greatest present in the world. She and the blond were almost halfway there when she heard the insult. Her feet stopped in their tracks and she felt her breath catch. Chōji had told her about that same insult before, but she had never heard it first-hand. "Goes to show, the Akimichi are useless. Everyone says so." A chill crawled up her spine.

She had never been particularly violent, but a dark thought entered her mind at that moment. She wondered, momentarily, if she would be capable of murder in the future. By kunai or by ninjutsu? Bile crept up her throat at the dark intensity of that thought. It made her sick. Still, how dare they insult her family? How _dare_ they—

Just as Miho began to turn around, the blond spoke up instead. She saw his fist rise in a silent threat. Her jaw dropped. He wouldn't defend himself, but he would defend her? "Hey! Don't make fun of her family! Being big doesn't make you useless. Being useless makes you useless! So lay off!" He gave a defiant harrumph and stamped his foot into the dirt for good measure. "Make fun of her again and I'll make you regret it! Believe it!" Miho watched with wide eyes as he turned back to face her. The angry determination was still clear in his face. "You got ramen? I love ramen."

Her skin was no longer burning and the images had faded away. In their place stood a skinny blond with no name. Miho tried to gather her composure, but that was the first time…The first time she had been protected by someone outside of her family. _Protect him,_ still rang through her mind—an instinct, a calling. She couldn't say why, but she knew she had to follow those words. She gave it little more thought. Miho held out a brown thermos for him to take. "I'm Akimichi Miho, by the way."

"Uzumaki Naruto," he replied as he took a swig of the hot liquid. His blue eyes lit up. "This_ is_ ramen!" He gave a crow of excitement, gulping down some more, and Miho stuffed a sandwich half into her mouth, grinning around it as he joyfully ate the food.

And so began a friendship.

Not a beautiful friendship or a stable one, but a friendship nonetheless.

* * *

**Author's Section**

I worked hard to get this out this week. I have been terribly busy and unable to work on this fan fiction as I have been able before. My schedule has me working on one day in particular for thirteen hours straight. I am wearing myself out. And it is only the third week of school. I wanted to get this chapter out to be able to make the following announcement:

In an effort to maintain quality, _I am putting this story on hiatus for the rest of September_. I will return in October. I _really_ wish that I could continue posting every week or every other week, but real life will not allow it. I _NEVER_ abandon a story.

UPON RE-READING: I believe this chapter may end up being re-written. I will consider it once I get to October. Note that this is a possibility.

In the meantime, please check out my other stories and, although the stories are old, my ancient account is OurLoveIsForever. Please be kind. That was three years ago. Also, please take a gander at my favorites list. All of the authors and stories are phenomenal.

I'm sorry that I can't keep up. I hope all of you will stick with me throughout and wait for the next chapter. If you don't, I appreciate your support thus far. Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, follows, and just all around greatness. I will respond to reviews on this chapter sometime in the following week.

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews!**

As for this chapter, I am merely setting things up. Miho is young right now. Things will change quite a bit as she matures. I will have character development, but it will happen with time. This is just introducing you to her construct—from here it is all fleshing out. Lots of clues here and there in the chapter. Ask my readers of my other stories, they know I'm a sucker for hidden clues. As for the remedial courses, I thought it would make sense if they had something like this as well. Though it would rarely be used because usually clans are too prideful to make use of it. I know I might get some flak for it, but I claim authorial privilege. It will serve its purpose later in the story.

Also, it may seem typical (with them meeting like this) right now...but hold onto your hats because it won't stay that way for long.

**Please leave me feedback.**

**All the best to everyone and I will see you in October!**


	4. Stories

**Points of Divergence **

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Four: Stories**

* * *

Some say that storytellers are born and not made. Some just carry in them the capacity for telling tales. As a child she was put to bed with stories—stories of the ancient past, of the Hokages, of wars, monsters, and heroes—and she always dreamt herself a part of those stories. She would see the images in her mind, in her dreams. She would see herself among those great peoples, the First Hokage and Uchiha Madara, the Fourth Hokage with his piercing blue eyes and the dark figure that fought him. And sometimes, in her nightmares, she would take the place of the villains. She would see with the eyes of that "great monster" that attacked the village when she was born. She would watch the villagers scream and the buildings burn. In those nightmares, she would listen to her role in the story. "The demon was destroyed by the Fourth Hokage and the village was saved."

And she herself would be pulled into the darkness after a flash of lightning. She would be trapped in that darkness for so long that she would forget what light was, what the wind felt like upon her face. Then she would wake again and the nightmare would be over.

Her father was a born storyteller. It was a trait that he inherited from his father, or so he said. He told her and Choji of his adventures, his escapades with the members of his team. He would tell her of the other nations—of sand and mountains. Chōji would listen along with her, his face filled with awe as their father spoke. They would lie there together in her or his bed, in the dim lighting of night, and just _listen_. And her mother supplied her own stories every now and then, where she could. She always said that, "Akimichi's have the storytelling gene." Her father's stories of battle and triumph and hardship never failed to make her heart race.

Far off places, daring battles, heroes in disguise. (1)

She and Chōji would fall asleep listening to the sound of their father's rumbling voice. And, into the night, whenever their parents thought them asleep, they would whisper about how great they would be one day, how they would be the ones in those stories. People would tell their children stories about the great leader of the Akimichi and the greatest kunoichi from Konoha.

Really, it came as no surprise to her parents when Miho announced that she wanted to be ninja. How could she want to be anything but? She wanted to be like those heroes in the legends her father told her. She wanted to play the part of the hero, not the monster that haunted her dreams at night. She wanted to protect, not destroy.

She worked extra hard so that she would achieve that goal. So hard that she had blisters on her feet from running so much. If she could just master her coordination, she'd be_ that_ much closer to becoming a ninja. She bit her lip and sucked in a breath as she lowered her feet down into the ice cold water. She had been in the Academy for two months and her body was already feeling the strain.

Her feet were torn and tattered, the skin pealing. Blood bubbled just under the surface. At first, she had been horrified by the blisters, but now…It was just part of life. "Miho, you okay?" She glanced toward the bathroom door and saw her brother standing in the frame, concern pulling at his round features. Miho frowned, glancing back toward her swollen feet. If Chōji saw them, he would surely get upset. And he would tell their parents. They would see… "What're you doing?"

"Just washing my feet. They smell." Hurriedly, she whirled around and grabbed the shampoo from the opposite side of the bath. She popped it open and poured a bit into the still-running faucet. Bubbles immediately began to form on the water's surface, hiding her raw feet from view. "What've you been up to? I miss you."

"Miss you too," he mumbled as he ambled into the room. He moved to sit on the side of the bath, facing out instead of inward. Quietly, he held out his open bag of chips. "They're barbeque." Without hesitation, she reached inside and grabbed a handful. They were her favorite flavor. Her eyes narrowed just a bit. Something was up. Chōji didn't give away chips without reason. "Chōji, what's wrong?"

"I think…I think I made a friend."

Miho felt her body jerk as if she had been struck. Jealousy reared in her without any thought and she felt it gnawing at her gut, along with the guilt she felt for feeling it in the first place. Chōji had always been _her_ friend, _her _brother. What if this new person came in and tried to take him away? Her head shook. No, that was thinking like a baby. She wasn't a baby. She was five and she was going to be happy for her brother. The smile she plastered on wasn't nearly as forced as she thought it would be. Her feet were beginning to cool down in the cold water. Relief was flooding through her. "Really? That's awesome! What's his name?"

"Shikamaru," Chōji responded excitedly as he turned to face her. "He's a member of the Nara Clan. He came up when I was talking to father! He said that it was good to eat chips and watch the sky. He tried to help me when the others were picking teams, but they wouldn't listen to him." Miho could see the light in his eyes and she felt her momentary jealousy floating away like the pain in her feet. It ebbed and disappeared entirely. He was so _happy._ "You gotta meet him!"

"Ok, I can when I get out of—" She moved her foot just a bit in the cold water and hissed as her skin dragged along the bottom of the bath. Chōji caught the movement and glanced down just as the bubbles seemed to clear from around her ankles. "Oh man…" She trailed off watching Chōji's mouth drop open. "Listen, Chōji…I know it looks bad—"

"Your feet're _bleeding!_" He gasped, twirling himself until he was on his knees outside of the tub and his hands were reaching into the frigid water. She held her breath as his meaty fingers locked around one of her ankles, drawing it out. Her teeth gritted together. The blisters stung horribly. "What—What happened? Do Mum and—"

"They d-don't know," Miho shook her head.

Chōji was on his feet in an instant, but Miho grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. Her head shook. "B-But, Miho!"

"It's okay." Glancing around, she saw some tears welling in her brother's eyes. She shook her head with more fervor, forcing away her own instinctual tears. She could never _stand _to see him cry. "It's okay, it's okay. You're okay! You're okay. Chōji, you're okay. Please don't cry. I don't want you to cry." Her stomach seemed to fall off a cliff at the sight of his quivering chin. "It's not so bad, Chōji. I've been at this for how many weeks now? I've got to get better sometime soon, right?" Her gaze flickered down to her bandage covered knees. Underneath, she knew that she had scabs and cuts from her constant loss of balance when running. The physical education teacher made her run so many laps that she had blisters covering her feet. She wasn't improving. If anything, she was getting worse. "Ch-Chōji, don't tell Mum and Pa."

"What? Why? You're hurt! I have to tell them, Miho!"

"Please…" Miho implored. "Chōji, please…d-don't tell them."

Chōji lifted his chin ever so slightly and seemed to consider the situation carefully before reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a bag of chips. Miho watched as he opened the bag and delved inside. It was something of a nervous habit. That meant that he was seriously thinking about giving in to her demands. Well, she could use that to her advantage. If there was one way to reason with her brother, it was through his stomach.

"I'll give you one of my cupcakes." She saw his eyes widen a little and she knew she had won. What kind of little sister would she be if she couldn't manipulate her older brother? Not to mention, he understood the underlying severity of her offer. Akimichi's do not offer food unless they are serious.

Especially food that is made by the matriarch of the clan—their mother.

"Miho…" Chōji whined for putting him in such a position. Miho curled her shoulders forward almost subconsciously to appear smaller and frailer. On cue, Chōji caved. "Fine! I won't tell Mum and Pa!" He glanced toward the tub and frowned. "Can I help though? I can help. I don't like to see you hurt! You're my sister I'm supposed to protect you."

She felt a large and powerful smile pull at her lips. Chōji could gain a million friends. He could become the most powerful shinobi alive. He could do anything and everything, but one thing would always remain true: Chōji would always be her brother. Her head nodded. She watched as he got some ointment from the bathroom medicine cabinet, standing on the tips of his toes. Miho withdrew her feet from the ice cold water and turned on the edge of the bath, pivoting around so her short and pudgy legs hung over the side of the tub. Chōji knelt down in front of her, clumsily drying her wet feet with a towel.

"What happened anyway?"

"I ran," Miho explained as if that were enough. She added, "Mizuki-sensei made me run." Chōji glanced up at her, but the little girl averted her eyes and focused on something else. Her hands gripped the ledge of the tub, knuckles white. If Chōji saw, he didn't say anything. He just helped her to bandage her aching feet and swore to keep her secret. "I'll keep running." Miho told him at last. Chōji just looked at her and smiled, holding out his chip bag.

"Keep running, Miho."

She nodded, taking the bag into her hands. Suddenly hungry, she began to pull out the chips and place the thickest side of barbeque flavoring on her tongue. She let it melt there. It was comforting, relief.

"You know," Chōji said as he wrapped the bandage gingerly around her ankle. "This reminds of a story father used to tell. The one about the two ninja?" Miho listened intently as he focused on her feet. "You know, the one where there's two ninja in us. One is strength, courage, goodness, faith, and hope. The other is disappointment, fear, anger, disloyalty, hate, and despair." Miho watched as her blisters disappeared underneath the white fabric. "They're fighting all the time, inside each of us. They're always fighting to gain control." She could remember the story, so she asked the question Chōji had asked the night their father told it.

"Which ninja will win?"

Chōji smiled widely, his eyes closing with his mirth. His hand rested on top of her covered foot. There was something very formidable about his answer: "The one you feed." (2)

* * *

She was—by absolutely _no means_—a brilliant student. She was young, too young for the concepts she was being taught. Her teachers could see that immaturity in the way she viewed the most basic of shinobi ideals. Her mindset was that of an immature child, not a soldier. Certainly not that of a shinobi. She would lift her hand high in the air, ready to give any input that she could to the class discussion. Her eyes would be alight with hope and excitement. In subjects discussing the nature of the shinobi nations, she would spout words of something called "democracy." She often defined it as a representative form of government that based the power on the people within given regions. At least, that was the way the teachers understood it.

Such talk was mutinous, rebellious.

And, suitably, her ideas were _dismantled_.

It did not do to have talk of a democratic republic within a military dictatorship. Whenever Akimichi Miho's ideas of liberty were criticized by the teachers, she would defend them wholeheartedly. "Shouldn't people be free?" Her notions would operate against the ideals of ninja society. "People should be free to make their own decisions, right?" The other students would cast knowing looks to each other, snickering behind their hands at the sheer naiveté of their classmate. "People should be free!" The instructors saw her as "defiant" toward shinobi principles. Her marks in theoretical subjects such as history were unsatisfactory at best.

Miho just couldn't _understand_ it.

In her mind, she saw things from a much different perspective.

All people had opinions, views of the world that were inherently their own. It seemed to be a concept that was _engrained in her mind_, a belief that she could not escape. No matter how she tried

And she could barely seem to describe it.

Whenever she was asked to explain herself, she couldn't.

She just knew these things, but she couldn't explain _how_.

In her mind though, not knowing wasn't all that frightening of a concept. She still played make-believe in the courtyard with Chōji after dinners. They would have mock battles between each other, claiming that the other was the enemy. Not knowing _where _her radical ideas hailed from was the very least of her worries.

She shifted, glancing over her shoulder toward where another group of children was working on their project. It was another day of history. The subject examined past shinobi engagements, such as wars, and dissected the situation for political and military operations. Groups were formed and the children were tasked with breaking down the war via the information they were given. The teachers always said that she was "too young to understand" and thus, she couldn't participate.

But Miho didn't buy that for a moment.

They didn't want her "radical thinking" to influence the other children, the other _soldiers_. Her lips pressed together and she had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. Her group was debating the Third Shinobi War. Of all the wars to receive, this one was the most recent and it held the most sway with the teacher. Miho wasn't an idiot. She could see that one wrong move, one wrong word, would get her in a heap of trouble. It would get her one hundred laps instead of fifty.

Mizuki-sensei didn't like her.

"Don't ask her," one of the girls muttered. "She'll just get us in trouble."

Miho gripped her hands tightly on the ledge of the table. The teachers had never been especially pleasant to her. They would give extra chores, extra work. At first, she thought it was because she was young, because she was "remedial." Mizuki-sensei would make her run extra laps around the track beneath the school, claiming that "practice makes perfect." Well, perfect practice perhaps did make perfect, but what does imperfect practice make?

Her hands were so scraped with cuts from falling that she had taken to wearing brown gloves on her hands. She bandaged her knees to keep them from being cut with every fall. She kept bandages wrapped around her feet now to keep the blisters from hurting worse and worse with every step.

"Miho!" She jumped in her seat, looking toward the open window nearby. She recognized the voice, but she saw no one in her line of sight. Surreptitiously glancing toward where her sensei was shouting at another kid in her class for his low mark in ninjutsu, Miho rolled out of her chair and made her way to the window, peeking her head outside. A blond popped up out of nowhere, causing her heart to leap out of her chest in fright. "Yo! You wanna get out of here? I really want some ramen."

"You just had ramen at lunch!" She whispered harshly, glancing back to make sure that she hadn't been caught yet. She waved her hand at him, trying to make him run off. "You're gonna get in trouble! Go back to class!"

"Eh—class is boring! C'mon, Miho! I've got the best prank planned. The prank to end all pranks. C'mon! It'll be fun!" She could see the excitement on his face, blue eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight. Part of her, the extremely rebellious side, wanted to go with him. If only to live up to the bad student image that the teachers had painted her with. Still…she knew she couldn't just drop her studies to play around. Her dream was to become a kunoichi, a hero. Images flashed in her mind of the terror wrought under a large red paw. A chill creeped down her spine. That wasn't her though. No, she would save lives—not take them. "C'mon, Miho!"

Her eyes focused again on Naruto's face. She had known him for three months and during that time, their friendship had become something of a mutual reliance. She needed him for some kindness in the middle of a very cruel ocean of insults. And she held a really strong sense of protection toward him unlike anything she had ever felt before. He, on the other hand, was something of a "bad influence." Or at least that was what Mizuki-sensei called him. Naruto got her to play pranks with him on the teachers and the other students.

"I can't," Miho whispered back. "I've got cla—"

"Akimichi Miho!"

Her back stiffened and she reached out of the window, pushing at Naruto's shoulder. "Get out of here. Go!"

"Miho—"

"You'll get in trouble again! Go!" She could see the conflict in his expression before he scrambled to his feet and took off. He was barely around the corner when Mizuki-sensei stormed up to the window. Miho took a single step back, her head hanging low. There was nothing she could do about it. Her eyes stared at her bandaged feet, bushy curls brushing her round cheeks.

"Laps!"

Children snickered around her. "Just roll her around the field, sensei!"

Feeling a little sick, Miho merely nodded and accepted her punishment. She shouldn't have been talking during class anyway, right? She'd have to tell Naruto not to visit her class again. She couldn't keep running like this. Almost every time that she was assigned laps, it always seemed that Naruto was somehow involved. It was almost like the teachers hated Naruto with the way they treated him. And it was almost like that hate was being transferred onto her. She settled herself back into her desk and withdrew a bag of chips. She would have to demand he repay her with ramen or potato chips. Again. She decided to go with the latter option in the end. She couldn't tell Naruto to stop visiting her class. He was her only friend at the Academy and, no matter what punishments came out of his crazy schemes, she wouldn't let him go that easily. To Miho, he was the only one who didn't judge her on first appearances. He never called her worthless, useless, or…fat. That lack of judgment meant the world to her. So, whatever trials she faced…she'd just deal with them as best she could. Pressing her lips together with grim acceptance, she stuffed a chip into her mouth. The comfort was instantaneous.

* * *

The air was cold and sharp, scraping the bottom of her lungs like a barrage of kunais. She could barely breathe. Her fingertips were tingling and she couldn't feel her toes anymore. All of the blood in her body was aiding in the fast paced action of her heart thundering in her rib cage. Her feet thundered against the ground, hitting the familiar dirt of the training field. There was an odd sort of thickness in the air she was breathing, like the air was thick with water. She was wading through it, sweat coating her face, on her upper lip. Her usual brown t-shirt was drenched under the arms. Her hair was wet, still with sweat. Hers was a clumsy sort of trot, feet barely lifted from the ground as she continued to move.

"Hurry it up, Akimichi! I want seventy-five. You're at twenty! We've been at this for thirty minutes already!" Mizuki-sensei yelled from the other side of the field. Miho continued to run, tripping a bit at the distraction. Her foot caught on a rock and she stumbled, catching herself before she tumbled into the dirt. Before she could resume her speed once more, a figure appeared in front of her. Gasping, she stumbled and then crumpled backwards, crashing into the dirt on her rump. "I cannot stay here all night. I want seventy-five laps completed before you can go home. I'll send word to the Akimichi Compound to let them know that you're doing work after school as punishment."

Miho's stomach lurched. Her parents were patient with her, but if she continued to make them look bad by her behavior...

"Complete the laps. Then, you can go home." Mizuki-sensei gave her a strict look and nodded his head. He disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving her alone on the edge of the training field. Her lower lip began to tremble before she could even think about her emotions.

It just…It hurt. She was so tired. So exhausted. Her dreams were becoming more and more frequent. Her feet were in almost constant pain. She didn't seem to be making any progress. The kids around her just found her "ridiculous" and "fat" and "ugly." Pulling her knees up to her chest, she curled herself into a ball and sat there in the dirt. If this kept up, she would never become a ninja. She'd be a failure. She'd never be able to fight with Chōji, to be a hero. She'd never do any of the things she had dreamed of. No, she'd just be a big, fat…big, fat…She began to cry.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Her head jerked up and she looked in the direction of the voice. A few feet away stood a boy not much older than herself. She could see the glisten of sweat in the setting sunlight. His hair fell into a braid at the nape of his neck and his brows were pulled together in concern. With a few steps, he was standing beside her until he fell into a squat. She could smell him, just like she was certain he could smell her. She shifted, glancing over at him.

"Are you training? I've been at it for hours!" He let out a sigh and fell back onto his bum in the dirt beside her. "I'm Rock Lee! I'm going to be the best taijutsu specialist in Konoha." Her eyes widened at his declaration and he smiled broadly, wide eyes full of excitement. "Who're you? Usually, I don't see anyone out here."

"Akimichi Miho," she answered politely. She released her hold on her arms and allowed her legs to splay out in front of her. In a few places, blood could be seen seeping into the white bandages around her knees. She knew that he had seen the injuries, but he didn't say anything, just running a tired hand through his black bangs. "I can't—I can't run anymore." Her breathing hitched and she fought to keep her emotions from overtaking her again. Her hand hurriedly ran along her chubby cheek. "I—I can't run…anymore. It hurts…It hurts too much!"

She could see Rock Lee glance at her bandaged legs and his lips pressed together. There was a flash of sheer determination before he nodded. With a burst of energy, he jumped to his feet and reached down. Miho gasped as she was yanked into a standing position. He placed his hands on her shoulders and he smiled brightly. "You can't give up! You can keep running because I'll run beside you. When you think you can't keep going, I'll tell you that you can! We can work together to train! Let's be friends, Akimichi Miho! Let's work hard and become strong ninja together!"

Almost as if she were seeing him for the first time, Miho's eyes widened at his forward declaration. He seemed so certain, so determined that she found herself nodding without thought. She needed someone to keep her motivated, someone to teach her how to keep moving even when she was exhausted beyond all thought. Rock Lee seemed like the kind of person to do just that. She could tell by the way his tan shirt was soaked brown and by the way his hair was wet with sweat. "I—" Her teeth gritted as she shifted her stance. "I can't run. I always trip."

"Let's start with that then! No time like the present! We'll run one hundred laps! If we can't then we'll do two hundred push-ups!"

"Two—two hundred _what?_"

Lee grinned broadly and pumped his fist, excitement clear in his expression. "That's just the warm up! By the time we stop training, everyone will see that hard work really does pay off!"

As Lee pushed her forward and she began to run once more, she could recall the story her father told her and Chōji. The one about the two ninja. Inside each and every shinobi and kunoichi, there is a battle raging. Two ninja battle for supremacy. One of those ninja is strength, courage, goodness, faith, and hope. The other is disappointment, fear, anger, disloyalty, hate, and despair. Her feet got caught up underneath her just a half a lap later. Her eyes squeezed shut, preparing to meet the hard earth once more.

She was caught by the arm and jerked upright. Lee smiled brightly and nodded his head, jerking it to the right to signal that they should keep moving. "Focus on your feet hitting the ground. Just one foot at a time, Miho! One foot at a time! One hundred laps! Let's go!"

"Which ninja will win, Pa? The bad ninja or the good ninja?" Chōji had asked. Her father had run a meaty hand over her dirty blond curls and he smiled broadly. He had reached over and patted Chōji's cheek with fondness. He let out a rumbling chuckle and stood from the ledge of the bed. Miho could remember the sight of him silhouetted in the doorway as she started to drift off to sleep that night. She could still remember his answer even as Lee shouted his encouragements from her side.

"The one you feed."

* * *

**Author's Section**

I'm back! It took a lot of work to get this written and prepared. I am so utterly happy to be back. I love writing fan fiction and missed working on my stories. I hope that everyone enjoyed this new installment. Updates should be fairly regular from here on out unless something comes up. Every two weeks for this story. "A Matter of Course" will be taking priority until it is finished. I hope that everyone liked my characterization here. There will be small time skip after this. I had a hard time deciding who she would link up with here, but finally landed on Lee. I love Lee and I respect him as a character so I will be taking great pains to make sure that I do him justice.

Mizuki's behavior will be explained.

**Announcing:** my Tumblr is now live (access can be found in my profile) and please feel free to follow me. I am not all that interesting, but there will be small drabbles, thoughts, rants, and scraps that didn't make the cut on there.

I will be responding to reviews this time.

**THANK YOU ALL for the wonderful support that has been given over the past month. So many kind words and I am grateful for every letter typed in support. Thank you for all of the favorites and follows as well. You guys are fantastic. **

_**Please leave me some feedback. Thank you for reading.**_

**References:**

(1) Small reference to Beauty and the Beast. Yes, this was on purpose. There is a reason for most of my smaller details. Same thing with the "democracy" issue as well. There is always a method to my madness, just ask my AMOC readers. :)

(2) This bedtime story is referenced from a Cherokee oral tale, "Two Wolves." I adapted it to the shinobi culture. I've had this adaptive version for a while (with the two ninjas) for a while, but have only just been able to use it in a story. It will play a large role throughout Miho's life.


	5. Friends and Father

**Points of Divergence**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Five: Friends and Father**

* * *

She could barely breathe. Her arms were tingling and every step she took felt like a new miracle unfolding. It was everything she could do to keep moving, just to keep moving. Heart thundering in her throat, she continued to war against her instincts. Everything within her, every fiber, was calling for her to quit, to give it up. Still, she kept moving, battling through every forward step. She could make it. She could keep going. She could catch up. Even as she thought these things, her legs started to give out. Her right leg failed first and she tried to correct with her left, which lost its strength under her weight. A moment later, she was face down in the dirt.

Several kids laughed, turning around to see the Akimichi girl lying on her flabby stomach.

"Look out for the slug!" One kid laughed out as the group rounded the corner. "Get up, cow!"

Alone, Miho flipped herself onto her back and stared up at the cloudless sky. It was as if there was no concept of clouds, the blue was so clear and fresh. A light breeze cut through the nearby trees and rattled the leaves. Though she felt the familiar sense of embarrassment in her gut, a sickening feeling that she was becoming increasingly used to, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds of the Earth. There were birds chirping pleasantly nearby and the muggy air that had lingered over the village for days had been lifted by the onset of autumn winds. Soon, the new school year would start and she would be free of her classmates. Then, her brother would start school.

Chōji. She wanted her brother.

Her eyes opened again and she imagined Lee's upbeat voice demanding that she "get up and try again." So, though her muscles were so weak she was quivering, she forced herself to her feet and started to run again. It was a dragging run, an exhausted sort of half-gait. Her side was throbbing with pain, just under her rib cage. All she had to do was finish this marathon. That was it. After this, she would be free until the new school year started. Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner and came to the third of five markers. An Academy teacher stood at a small table lined with small cups. As soon as she reached it, he handed her some water and waited while she gulped it down.

"Akimichi Miho, you're at the third marker. Two more markers are ahead. Do you know the route?" The brown-haired teacher questioned her with a concerned look on his face. She had always liked him, Iruka-sensei that is. He was kinder than the other teachers and, whenever he substitute-taught for Mizuki-sensei, he always made certain to tell her that she was putting in a good effort—even if her results were sub-par. "You look sick, Miho. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, sensei." Miho tossed the cup into the small trash bin and started jogging toward the east. The next marker was training field three. She could make it there with no problem. It was the long distance between field three and the final check point that had her concerned. She was already in last place, which wasn't all that surprising, but she wanted to complete the course in time. Maybe with that, she could show Mizuki-sensei her improvement. Speed was not her element. And she had been working hard on her endurance.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Lee's voice. "You've run two hundred laps around the village, Miho! You can do this!"

"You carried me for half of them," she would retort back moments later. And that was the truth. Lee was a mix between a trainer and a best friend. She couldn't quite draw a line between the two. He trained her because he was her friend. He was her friend because he trained her. Lee had taken it upon himself to make her "see" that she had potential. That began months ago. Within several weeks, she had learned to run without tripping. After that, it was all about endurance. Lee never pushed her for speed. He always said that the "slow and steady" always win the races. And she never wanted to_ win_ a race. She just wanted to complete one. Lee was…the best. So, every time she heard his voice in her head, she listened.

"Keep going, Miho! Keep going!"

By the time she reached the fourth marker, it was roughly forty-five minutes later. Her body was far past exhausted. She could barely feel her limbs any longer and she felt terribly flushed. Even the rolls of her stomach seemed to be tingling. She didn't stop for water because there were no cups placed on the table. Mizuki-sensei crossed his arms and watched her pass with his barely-hidden sneer. Lee always told her to "look past" her teacher's hate. He said that he endured it all the time and that, sooner or later, the teachers would see their potential. Miho always nodded along, looking up at Lee as if he had unlocked some mysterious secret to the ninja arts.

The goal was in sight. It was just ahead, perhaps a few hundred more strides. She could feel it in her bones. She was going to make it. She would be in last place, maybe hours later than everyone else, but she was going to complete the course. The tingling in her chest was spreading to her whole body and her fingers were beginning to go numb. There was nothing for it though. She had to keep moving, keep enduring. That was her strength. Lee told her she could endure anything. He told her that as long as they didn't give up they could do anything in the world. They could become ninja together. Lee would be waiting to hear of how she made it to that finish line.

She wouldn't disappoint him. Not him or her family.

No matter what, she had to finish.

One stride more and her legs began to weaken under her weight. She could feel them starting to give out, but she continued to push forward.

One more step. Just one more.

And then another.

One stride more and her vision was beginning to tunnel. Blackness creeped into the world, encroaching on the bright sunlight overhead. She felt too hot.

One stride more and her chest ached. She couldn't feel her arms.

With one chilling though, Miho realized: she wasn't going to make it.

Her legs gave way and she toppled forward onto her hands and knees. The gravel cut into the skin of her palms. She raised her head weakly and looked toward the finish line, which was blurred by the sweat that clung to her lashes. Her breaths were unsteady and desperate, on the verge of hyperventilation. She couldn't seem to stop her gasps. The back of her throat was hurting, just like everything else and it felt like some demon had a grip on her chest, choking out the air that she was gulping.

Attempting to push herself up, she only succeeded in losing her precarious balance. Her face struck the dirt and she felt heat collect behind her eyes. She had to do this. She had to show Mizuki-sensei. She had to show everyone. She had to run home and tell her father what she had done! Miho tried to move her arms or legs, to do anything other than lay there like the slug that her classmates called her. Still, she couldn't move. It was hopeless…Maybe she really was…

Hopeless.

Fingers wrapped around her wrist and she felt whoever it was pulling her up off the ground. Her left arm was tugged over a pair of shoulders before she was hauled out of the dirt. She could barely find the strength to raise her head and see just who was dragging her from her defeat. Gathering what strength she could, Miho looked to her left and found a set of concerned blue eyes. Relief coursed through her body. It was Naruto. And for the first time since she had met him, he said nothing. His eyes though, said enough.

Stand up, he was saying. Stand up and finish it.

And Miho really couldn't fathom where her strength came from. She didn't have any other reserves. She was dehydrated. Her heart was beating far faster than it should have been. She was overheated and overexerted. Still, from that expression Naruto was giving her, she found the determination to use her weakened legs to hold herself up while his right arm looped under her meaty shoulders. She knew, from the way his knees buckled, that her weight was almost too much for him. Still, he didn't say a word. He just kept giving her _that look_.

One slow step.

Then another.

She couldn't hold her head up, but she could shuffle her feet.

"Naruto! What in the world—"

"We're finishin' the marathon, Iruka-sensei!" Naruto shouted back. "We're finishin' it and you can't stop us! Believe it!" He jostled Miho a bit and reaffirmed his grip on her sweated-through t-shirt. "C'mon, Miho! We can do it! Hang in there! You're gonna finish it!" Had Naruto been participating in the marathon the whole time? Miho couldn't remember him being at the starting line that morning. Why was he suddenly participating? He kept pushing onward, one step at a time until the white line came into view. Miho could see it just in front of her feet when they came to a stop. "You did it, Miho."

She felt tears filling her eyes, mixing with the sweat that dripped from her brow.

It was the finish line.

She made it.

_She made it._

Her chest was aching terribly and her breathing was still unstable. The relief that coursed through her chest was enough to cause her vision to tunnel quicker than before. Her knees were growing weaker and weaker by the second. Using her remaining strength, she rolled her head to rest on her friend's shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured. Hearing this, Naruto let out a triumphant laugh and gave her a jovial push over the white line. Her legs lost their remaining strength. Her breath caught. And the world faded into blackness before she even hit the ground.

* * *

He had been to that hospital far too many times in his lifetime. First, when his mother had passed on into the next life. He had been no more than a toddler, still playing with a wooden kunai. She had carved that kunai herself from the wood of an old hardwood that had fallen on the clan property. From that young age onward, the hospital had rarely been a symbol of good tidings. The next time he arrived at the hospital in a hurry, his teacher had been mortally wounded in a battle with Iwagakure. His sensei's body was so mangled that it still haunted his nightmares from time to time. Blood and gore. Chōza knew from late-night (drunken) talks that Shikaku was still suffering with the memory of their old teacher. Inoichi as well. Then, not too long after, his father succumbed to an illness within those walls. Finally, his sister…his sister was lost and so many others on that fateful day the Kyuubi attacked.

Now, as he rushed through those doors, he was hurrying toward one of the only good things that came _out_ of that nightmare building. Trying to remain as calm as possible, he strode toward the nurse station. "Excuse me," he tried. The nurses continued about their tasks, paying him no heed. If there was one thing he learned from his sister, it was that he had to be more assertive if he was going to get anything done. "Excuse me." He approached one nurse in particular and blocked her path out of the station. Her eyes trailed up his enormous height and he plastered on a kind smile to ward of any panic she might have felt.

A picture of contrite demureness, she lowered her head in difference. "Sorry, Lord Akimichi. Things have been very hectic with all the chaos from last night." He gave her an understanding nod. The attempted kidnapping of the Hyūga heiress certainly had every clan on edge. He expected the political repercussions to be practically severe. However, that was not at the top of list of worries at the moment. "Oh! You're here about your daughter!"

That much seemed obvious. "I was told that she was admitted. Is she alright?" Worry laced his tone and he didn't bother to hide it. "I'm unaware of the details. As soon as I arrived back from my mission, I was told she lost consciousness. My wife hasn't even been informed yet."

The nurse grabbed a clipboard and made a motion for him to follow behind, her eyes scanning the document that was sitting at the top of the pile. "Your daughter was admitted less than thirty minutes ago. Word has already been sent through the proper channels and she will have to stay the night for observation. We haven't had time to send word to your clan. Her condition was and is not dire."

"What happened?" He couldn't imagine his sweet daughter coming to any harm. She was always so careful and methodical in everything she did. She kept her hands and knees covered to protect her skin and she was getting much better with her physicality. It was amazing what the Academy had accomplished in terms of her physical abilities. The girl rarely ever tripped anymore and she could keep pace in clan movements with much clearer efficiency. In only a year, she had improved leaps and bounds from how she had once been. Chōza had every confidence that his daughter would be a reputable kunoichi by the time she matured.

Rounding the corner, they arrived at the room farthest from the nurse station. Akimichi Chōza froze, breath catching in his throat. His large hands fisted at his sides. In his mind, he could recall walking into the same room only five years prior.

Then, the world had seemed so much darker.

Then, there had been screams cutting through the air and wails and pleading to whatever deity would listen for mercy.

Then, he had been identifying the body of his sister and collecting the daughter she had left behind.

This room…was the same room that he had lost Chisato in all those years ago. This was the room in which Miho had been born, into a world filled with chaos.

Now, instead of the piteous wails of the victims, laughs jingled through the air like bells. He would recognize one of those laughs anywhere. It was more of a chuckle than anything else. Miho never possessed a hearty laugh like her brother. It was the mild chuckle of her father, mannerisms that carried in her blood. Keisuke was in her, reborn into his little girl. And it was upon hearing that laugh that Chōza found himself able to move again.

If the nurse noticed, she said nothing. Her attention was instead focused on the chart. "Your daughter came in with severe dehydration and an unhealthy blood pressure. Her unhealthy blood pressure hit both extremes because it bottomed-out en route from the school. She was also hyperpyrexic. That means that her body temperature far exceeded average." The nurse rubbed a hand on her forehead and sighed. "To be short, she overheated and overexerted herself. It caused a whole range of issues, which resulted in her loss of consciousness. The doctor can discuss the rest with you. Until then…" the woman gestured toward the room and the laughter that came from inside. "Until then, see if you can get them all to calm down a bit."

Uncertain of who she could be referring to, since Chōji was likely still at home with his mother, Chōza stepped toward the door and let himself inside. The nurse disappeared down the hallway once again, off to make her rounds. What he saw inside the room was something that he never quite expected.

Miho sat in the bed, her head in her hands as she giggled. In the corner, one kid—a _boy_, Chōza noticed immediately because his role as a father couldn't help but to make him ultra-aware of males around his daughter—had another blond-haired boy in a headlock. The sun-yellow hair made Chōza's heart rate triple. Him. It was him. It was _him_. A sick feeling filled his sizable gut, all nervous energy and uncertain fear.

Yes, fear.

As chilling as it was for the old warrior to realize, he very much feared what the child possessed within him.

As the black haired boy went still at the sight of the large man, still holding the blond in a headlock, Chōza saw the yellow-haired youth lift his head and stare at him with wide blue eyes. Minato's eyes. There was a spark there though. It was full of mischievousness and unbridled fervor for life. Kushina.

Chōza felt sick.

Here, in this room, was the culprit of his sister's demise. The reason Miho had lost her parents. In the room where she died—Chisato— was the Nine-tailed Demon Fox. Anger flashed through Chōza and he couldn't think rationally for a moment. That thing deserved to be nowhere near this place, not where his sister had suffered. Not where she had taken her final breath. It couldn't be near his _daughter_, the only vestige of his sister's legacy. And the child must have recognized his fear and anger because he wrestled himself out of the other boy's hold and positioned himself close to the open window. Obvious fear flickered in Minato's cobalt blue eyes—eyes that had given him orders only a few years before—and Chōza felt his anger simmer and slowly die away.

The boy was scared.

Though he barely showed it behind that bravado…Minato's son was afraid.

With a sudden chill, Chōza realized that that boy was afraid of him.

"Papa!" Miho's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He turned to her and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. She was clearly wrung out, looking like an often-used dish cloth. Her dishwater blonde hair only helped to complete the image of enervation. Her curls were matted down with sweat, still shining in the sunlight from the window. "You're back… from your mission!"

"That's right!" He nodded and made his way over to place his hand on the top of her head. She grinned up at him tiredly. The two boys were watching the interaction as closely as possible. "I finished the marathon, Papa." The marathon? His heart practically leapt into his throat. Miho participated in the marathon? At her age? What were the teachers thinking? She was in no physical condition to run the endurance test. She had only just—Her words struck him then. She…She had finished the marathon? His mouth opened, but no words seemed to form. "Naruto helped me. I wouldn't have made if it wasn't for him."

Chōza followed her gaze—a gaze that he recognized from the way Chōji looked at Shikaku's boy. It was full of admiration, loyalty, and thankfulness. How long had this been going on? Surely their friendship did not form in the past thirty minutes. Naruto lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit if he had ever seen one. His grin was a little anxious and he waved her off with this free hand. "Aw, you did it on your own. I just helped you the last bit, ya know? No big deal." He chuckled a bit and Chōza saw Miho shake her head.

"You didn't have to help me," she responded. "Lee always says that those who help others are the best friends a person can have."

"Lee?" Chōza questioned, feeling horribly outside of his daughter's life. She was only five years old. This feeling out "otherness" had to wait until she was at least sixteen. Miho had friends that he hadn't even heard about. As far as he knew, his little girl didn't have any friends. Now, she had two. Two boys at that! Turning to the black-haired boy in the corner, he saw a bright smile break on the kid's face.

"Hello, Lord Akimichi! My name is Rock Lee! I'm going to be Konoha's best taijutsu specialist!"

"Way to go, bushy-brows!" Naruto cheered. "You can be that and I'll be Hokage! We'll be the best there is!"

Chōza watched the two enter into some sort of shouting match between two excitable children, both declaring their dreams to be "just within reach." His gaze skittered back to his daughter, who was watching the boys' rambunctious tirade with half-lidded eyes. As if she could sense his attention on her, she looked up to him. In that moment, she seemed so small and fragile. One day, she would be the ninja she had always wanted to be. At that moment though, she was nothing more than a little girl—his little girl—and she was exhausted from her hard work. Her thick fingers reached out and grasped his scarf, the brown one that he always wore on recon missions.

"Papa, I can run now. Not fast though. I don't think I can be fast. Not as fast as Lee."

That caught the boys' attention. Lee turned on his heel and marched toward the bed, placing both hands on his hips. Naruto continued to linger near the window, still leery of Chōza's presence. Pressing his lips together, the Akimichi Clan Head motioned for Minato's legacy to approach. Slowly, a smile began to pull at the child's lips and he ran up to the bed and leaned over the railing. Miho, in reaction, pulled back to keep up her personal space.

"You can't talk bad like that, Miho! If you talk like that, you'll have to do two hundred push-ups!"

Two hundred… _what?_ Chōza felt a sudden flash of familiarity. Lee reminded him of someone just as energetic, just as driven. A flare of uncertainty welled within him when Miho didn't respond to the boy's threat of exercise. She would have had a conniption over two hundred push-ups. She would have demanded some sort of dietary compensation. Instead, she just tiredly shrugged her shoulders.

"Chyeah! Keep up your confidence! You're better than all those jerk-offs in class anyway! They just don't know it! One day, when I'm Hokage, you're gonna be my—Well, you're gonna be something! I don't know where to put you. Somewhere important though!" Naruto's eyes glanced up to him and he reached forward and flicked Miho's left ear. She practically hissed and slapped his hand away. It seemed to be something usual between them. "Get some rest, Miho! Don't worry, I'll get those bastards back for you."

"Don't you dare—" Miho started, sitting upright. Naruto was already on the window sill, grinning like a…fox. Chōza felt completely lost in these dynamics. Why had he never known? Had Miho kept her friends a secret from her family? Why would she do something like that? Her expression transformed into a stern sort of demeanor that mimicked her mother. "Naruto, don't do anything to Mizuki-sensei."

Mizuki-sensei? Why would Naruto—

"No promises," the blond shrugged. "I'll be back later, Miho. Good to see you, too, bushy-brows." Lee waved enthusiastically from where he was planting himself in the seat beside the bed.

Blue eyes shifted to him and Chōza looked back with the same amount of uncertainty. Naruto didn't trust him, him. Chōza felt sick. Kushina had been just as distrustful when she first arrived in Konoha, if he remembered correctly. Naruto, however, was right not to trust easily. Very few treated him fairly. Chōza had to admit that he was one of those that chose to ignore the little blond and pretend ignorance. Miho tugged at his scarf again and, just before Naruto jumped from the window, he spoke up. Though, he couldn't quite say where he found the strength and…forgiveness, to do so.

"You're welcome to stop by any time, Naruto. Any friend of Miho's is a member of our family."

For a moment, he could have sworn he saw tears in that boy's eyes. He could have sworn he saw his chin tremble just a bit. Miho pulled down on his scarf to draw his eyes away as Naruto made his escape. She looked up at him, with eyes that he could never deny, and she smiled. It was a smile full of accomplishment, the first one had had seen on his little girl's face. She felt pride for the first time in her life. He could see it there, under the surface. Miho had gained some confidence. And it seemed that her growth was due, in part, to the two boys.

"Tell me about this marathon." Miho looked to Lee, silently pleading for the boy to tell the story. Lee kindly obliged, leaping out of his chair to offer it to the older man. Chōza accepted the offer and watched the rather energetic and theatrical reproduction of Miho's incredible (and unexpected) accomplishment. When the story concluded however, the Akimichi leader felt fury curdling in his chest. As calmly as he could, he turned to his daughter. She was half-asleep, a small smile on her face as she watched Lee grin from the end of the bed. "Did Mizuki-sensei train you, Miho?"

Her head rolled back and forth, until she faced away from him. Her eyes focused on the door. She was trying to avoid a lie by keeping silent. Perhaps that is what she had been doing this whole time. If his suspicions were correct, his Miho had been dealing with some terrible things on her own for quite some time. She and Chōji were forbidden from lying, but they were not explicitly forbidden from withholding the truth. "He…Not…Not really."

"Lord Akimichi," Lee spoke up. Glancing over, he saw the boy practically at attention at the end of the bed. "Since Miho began training with me, I have taken responsibility for her. Miho does not want to cause trouble with the Academy. After today though, I cannot stay silent any longer."

"Lee!"

Lee sent his daughter a look that stunned the hardened shinobi. It was a mix between the care of a brother, the protection of a leader, and the concern of a friend. His thick brows were pulled downward and his stance challenged Miho to stop him. This was the friend that his daughter had made, the one that she would develop the ultimate trust with. "Sir, when I found Miho, she was running around a training field alone. She tripped every few steps. I invited her to train with me. Since that time, we have been training together. We've been getting stronger together. Miho is determined like me. I have…no chakra."

Chōza considered the boy's shamed look. "A ninja's strength is determined by his heart and will. If you work hard enough, you'll succeed."

Glowing admiration broke over the boy's face like sunshine out of the clouds. He still stood at attention, but there was a certain pride that had entered his voice. "Lord Akimichi—"

"Lee, please…"

"Miho passed out today because she was denied water by Mizuki-sensei at one of the stations." Lee's admission seemed to hang in the air like a sword about to fall. Miho covered her face in her hands, a whine leaving her lips. "I had to tell him, Miho. He's your father. He should know."

Anger flooded through the Akimichi leader and he was on his feet in an instant.

Miho reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling gently. "Papa! Don't do any

thing. Please don't do anything! I want to be a kunoichi! If I want to be a kunoichi, I have to deal with bad things. Please don't punish him or get Mizuki-sensei into trouble. It will only make me look…" She trailed off and shook her head. "All the other kids at school call me a slug. They call me names, call me fat. Even Mizuki-sensei calls me names sometimes." Another wave of rage cut through Chōza's stomach. If his wife knew…there would be no escape for the tiny chūnin punk. "I don't want to look weak. I can deal with the names. They can call me fat."

"You're not—" Lee tried to interrupt.

Chōza felt his anger waning. Miho sounded just like her mother. He could remember when Chisato endured the bullying of others. She endured it all silently, never batting an eye at the nicknames she was given. It was her enormous patience that prevented her from losing her composure. And Keisuke, too, he was more muscular though. He would always take the comments in stride. Chōza could remember it all. He had been like Chōji back then, insecure and uncertain. It wasn't until he met Inoichi and Shikaku that his confidence began to develop.

Miho had her mother's patience and she had her father's thick skin. And, though he could see that the insults hurt her just as much as they did Chōji, she dealt with them in a different manner. She took them all in stride. Perhaps even agreed with a few. Her wide eyes turned up to him and she was attempting to use her pleading tactics to get her way. "They can call me every name they want. As long as I become a kunoichi and have Lee and Naruto, I'll be okay! They can call me names! I don't care!"

"Miho…" Lee sounded absolutely touched. To be honest, the Akimichi Head was stunned as well.

She was too young to be thinking in such terms, with such conviction and loyalty.

"Please don't—"

"I won't turn him in for his rudeness to the daughter of a major clan." Chōza agreed. Miho visibily relaxed, her eyes sliding shut. "I will, however, comment on the issue of water provisions during marathons. I will make it clear that I'm aware of his slights. If this goes any further, Miho, I will take action and I will not stop just because you ask me to. Am I understood?" Her head nodded. "Now, I'm going to get some snacks. You need to eat and build up your energy. As soon as your mother arrives, she will be fretting. And Lee?" The boy lifted his head from where he was staring at the floor. "Thank you for training my daughter. You're welcome to the Akimichi clan compound at any time."

"Yes, sir!" He saluted happily and smiled broadly.

A chill ran down Chōza's spine. Something about that smile was familiar. Too familiar. For a single moment, he couldn't help but to wonder at the friends his daughter had found. The son of Minato, the Kyuubi's host. As well as Lee, who reminded him so very much of Might Guy. What sort of future could he expect of them? Furthermore…He glanced toward his daughter and saw her smiling broadly while Lee continued his dramatic salute.

Furthermore, what kind of future could he expect of his daughter?

* * *

_**Six Years Later**_

A thrill of very real fear cut through her chest, echoing throughout her entire body. It was a nervous sort of anticipation. Her spar wouldn't be an easy one. She knew as soon as she heard her opponent's name that she was going to lose, quite spectacularly at that. It was simply not her day. First, she had been late to class because Chōji decided to have _just one more plate of bacon_. Added to the three that he had already chowed upon before breakfast even started. Then, that's not saying that she didn't have some extra rice as well. Naruto then decided that it would be a brilliant idea to prank Iruka-sensei _again_, dragging her into the mess because of his terrible alibi. And finally, she had to endure Miki and Fuki's endless parade of insults at lunch. Oh, and she barely passed her history exam. Her mother would be thrilled. Now, this.

Morikawa Issei was a very intense, very muscular fighter. His style was rudimentary at best and relied heavily on his brute strength. If she had any advantage, it would be her style. Over the years, she and Lee had worked toward a style of fighting that functioned to increase her strength and overcome her lack of speed. She could get out of the way; tire him out as much as possible. It was the only thing that would work. She had to tire him out before she could use her taijutsu. Her legs carried her to the center of the sparring field, meat jiggling on her thighs and stomach. There was a snicker somewhere in the crowd and she saw Fuki whispering behind her hand.

Her gaze sought only one face in particular.

Chōji stood beside Shikamaru, worry clear on his round face. He was munching on his favorite chips, a nervous habit that he had never stopped. If she knew her brother at all, Miho knew that he had another bag ready for her after this loss.

Morikawa stood across from her, towering to the tallest height of the class. She wondered vaguely if the school had slipped a chūnin in to track the progress of the upcoming class. It was possible. Lee told her that something similar had been done to his graduating class, around three weeks or so before the exams. Stopping at the center of the practice field, Miho bowed lowly in respect. She kept her face carefully void of any emotion, just as she had been trained to do. He returned the gesture with a confident smirk.

"Begin!"

Immediately, she backed away. It was an action booed by a majority of the crowd. Retreating was often viewed as an act of cowardice by her classmates. Miho always retreated first, always giving her opponent space. Though some understood her movements, such as Shikamaru, others called her a "lazy slug" or a "fat cow" for backing down immediately in any confrontation. Miho saw it differently though and, really, that was all that mattered.

"You scared, Akimichi?" Morikawa taunted, swaggering to the left without a care in the world. "That loudmouth dead-last isn't here to defend you today." He didn't consider her a threat. The realization made her feel a bit more confident. She usually wouldn't be a threat, but there was something to be said for arrogance. If he didn't take her seriously, then she was going to surprise him. Surprise was always something that benefited her in sparring matches. "Or that bushy-browed loser! Or your fluffy brother over there!"

His attack was fierce and painful. A flurry of well-aimed punches pummeled her parrying arms. He was tiring himself out quickly, using all of his power to ensure himself a quick victory. She could sense that his stamina was far less than her own. What she lacked in speed and skill, she made up for in her endurance. As Lee often called it, "her youthful determination and perseverance." Her lips quirked upward as blow after blow struck her arms. Naruto always said it was "just plain stubbornness." Miho though? Miho liked to call it _conviction_.

"Beat her down, Issei!" A call issued from the observers. They cheered loudly, pumping their fists for her quick demise. Issei sent the crowd a grin and that was all the distraction she needed. Miho dropped to the ground, sweeping one thick leg under him. The giant went down in a cloud of dust. Her heart thundered in her chest. She had never thought she would be able to ground him that quickly. Seeing the opportunity, she went to land a final blow to his head.

His hand grabbed her ankle and the world blurred. The air was knocked out of her as she was thrown to the dirt. Face-down, she could taste the grit of the granules in her mouth. Coughing, she rolled onto her back. He charged again, like a bull seeing red. This was where her training initiated, where her style was useful. She rolled to her legs and pushed energy into those muscles. Releasing the tension, she jumped into the air and locked her thighs around his neck. Morikawa stumbled and fell to his knees under her weight. Twisting herself, she used her weight to throw him off balance and onto his back. His hands gripped at her legs, scratching at the bandages.

Then, somehow, she found herself on her back. She couldn't quite figure out how it happened. One moment, she was in control of the spar and the next, she was defeated. She stared up at the sky as a bird flew overhead. In the distance, she could hear Iruka-sensei calling the match. Miho couldn't find the energy to move. Another loss. She needed to train more. Her grappling style wasn't any good against long-range fighters and she couldn't do anything if the opponents were far stronger than her physically. Maybe she really was pathetic.

"Hey," a face appeared above her. His yellow hair was shining around his head like a halo, the sun illuminating behind him. She kept staring upward, brows pulling together. Naruto was just now deciding to show up? Physical education was his favorite class. Just what prank had he played this time that made him run so late to the afternoon session? Her lips pursed as she stared up at him, watching his hands—suspiciously free of paint—rest on his hips. "You okay?"

Sighing, she sat up. Her entire body ached with the movement. With a tired groan, she reached up and pulled the bit of brown leather from around her mussed ponytail. "I'm fine." Biting the leather between her teeth, she set to pulling the bush of dirty blonde hair up off her sweating neck. She could feel the dirt mixing with the sweat. She was so used to the sensation that she ignored it. "What happened this time?" Her words were mumbled through the leather. Taking it out, she began to wrap it around the hair. "What happened?"

"You just got the shit knocked out of you!" He commented, crouching to the ground beside her. She tried not to allow the irritation onto her face. She knew that much. He was just rubbing it in for some reason. "Told you that Bushy Brows was nuts, right? That wrestling style won't work too good. You're more likely to throw 'em. You got the strength to send that jackass flying. You just won't use it!" He reached forward and flicked her ear.

She reacted on instinct, flicking her finger on his shoulder as hard as she could. He hissed in response, dramatically grabbing the arm as if she had stabbed it with a kunai. "I don't have the speed for normal taijutsu," Miho corrected absently, "and stop calling Lee that." Her back was hurting more than anything. Go figure there was a rock right where she was thrown to the ground. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to stand without help, she made the intelligent call rather than the prideful one. Her hand reached up toward the Uzumaki. "Can you help me up? I think I threw my back out."

He snorted and then laughed. "What are you? An old woman? With those old-looking clothes and the old lady bun, you could be an Grandma! Now, you can't get up, too?" Naruto did as she asked though, carefully pulling her from the ground. She just agreed with him. With the way she was hunching over, she probably did look like a grandmother or something. "You _are _an old woman!" Naruto crowed, looking over to where Chōji was observing the scene with a worried look on his face. Miho noticed that Shikamaru had a hand on Chōji's shoulder and she silently thanked the Nara for his foresight. "Grandma Miho!" Naruto burst out into loud laughter.

"Naruto! Get off the sparring field!" Iruka-sensei ordered. His eyes softened at Miho's pained expression. For the past six years, Iruka-sensei had been her main Academy teacher. She had never again been ordered to run laps by Mizuki-sensei. In fact, the silver-haired teacher avoided being alone in the same room as the Akimichi daughter. Miho still wasn't quite sure what her father had done all those years ago. "Take a break for today, Miho. You earned it."

With her arm slung over Naruto's shoulder, she allowed him to help her to the sidelines where Chōji and Shikamaru were waiting. As soon as she was within reach, Chōji was at her other side and helped to lower her to the ground. Naruto was summoned out for his spar with Sasuke and Chōji fretted while Shikamaru looked on passively. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Not too bad," she lied. "Just hit a rock."

Chōji eyed her skeptically, popping a chip in his mouth after a moment. He didn't believe her in the slightest, but he was going to let it slide until after the spars had ended. Then, he would force her to go to the hospital. And Shikamaru would blackmail her into it with some sort of logical argument that she couldn't possibly refute. Most likely, it would involve some think telling her father about the times she participated in Naruto's crazy prank schemes or the times when she allowed the boys to cheat off her tests—for the lot of good that did them.

Ignoring Chōji's look of concern, Miho instead focused her attention on the spar.

And for a single moment she felt _it_.

That _same sensation_.

Over the years, her protective instinct had grown stronger and stronger. And it was rising to surface once more. Seeing Naruto fighting Sasuke was like watching a slaughter. Sasuke gave no mercy. No matter how hard Naruto tried, he couldn't win. And the more he got frustrated, the more damage was done. Every time he hit the ground, Miho felt the pulse of something deep in her chest.

_Protect him, _the Voice said.

A calling.

_Protect him._

An echo.

Miho stared at the ongoing spar and, for an instant, she saw something she had only ever seen in nightmares. The sky was red and there was a red moon overhead. As she lowered her gaze down from the skies above, she found herself staring into crimson and black. Blood was dripping down the man's cheeks and from his mouth. Red. Red everywhere. His gaze remained upon her, a smile quirking at his lips. Almost as if he was amused. He glanced down and she did as well. Bile filled her throat at the sight of her arm buried in the man's chest.

"_You can't protect him."_

The red world disappeared and Naruto was on his feet once more, running a thumb under his nose. Miho watched with wide eyes, observing with bated breath as the red faded from the sky and the world became normal once more. Her heart thundered in her throat as those words continued to reverberate in her mind. It was sickening, terrifying. What did all of it mean? Why were these visions haunting her? Why were her nightmares now waking?

"_You can't protect him." _

Yes, she could. She didn't know how or why or when or who, but she would live to protect. She would live to protect her family, her brothers, Lee, Naruto, and Shikamaru. Even her other friends. What then? Yes, she could protect them. She just had to get stronger. She always had to get stronger.

* * *

**Author's Section**

I contemplated ending at the end of the hospital scene, but I wanted to have a big chapter as we lead into the main storyline. This is the end of the build-up process. I hope that everyone enjoyed the reading and I hope to have another chapter up in a month or so. Next, Miho will be even further developed and we get team placements as well as more interactions between the characters. And into the plot we go. From here out, Miho will be developing as a character and it may not be in the ways you're expecting. She's not a saint or anything and...though it might seem like she's forgiving in this chapter, don't assume too much.

THANK YOU EVERYONE for your reviews, follows, and favorites! I've been so blessed to receive so many wonderful words of support!

**Please leave me feedback. And thank you for reading!**


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